




r- 








-’•. 1. •• -f -^ .,♦'■■»*’> i- '»»-.• ■^v-'.s 

Twm.i mmf%' ,' ’. w .♦ '/■• ' A ‘ 




><- 


:V- ^ . 

-‘v 

' V**. »■ - ' * » 1 ^'* V f* t - V 

v * •' »^ » , ' • ' ■^ 4 . T'** - 


' . V'' 

4' V i’ ■ -*•• w r‘><T 

Y.'- .--Y ■,.'<(5*;'. '-■« 


• ; 




/ • 


'X 


4 




.'>; 


J'' 


-r I 




■* • 


k« - 


t I * 


■I . 


« ^ 


)•?< 


f': 


^ V 


z.< 


I 


> -4 


ifj r; 4 * : . , 

* »r- 

»' Vv- J W,. 

* * i* 




i ' 


. r-" « 


m 


. / 


. > 







i 


• • .- » , • « . •• 




^ r 


,v? 






V 


;.v^^.:ii 




D 


r> 














HAROLD 

THE LAST OF THE 


SAXON KINGS 

BY LORD LYTTON 

* I 


7/ V 


EDITED WITH INTRODUCTION 
AND NOTES BY 


GEORGE LAURENCE GOMME 

) 


1898 

'"v^lor WASH\H5i^ 


1Rew lL>orft 

LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 

‘OUestminstcc 

ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE AND CO. 
1897 



INTRODUCTION 


IX 


GLOSSARY AND NOTES 


AUTHOR S DEDICATORY EPISTLE 


AUTHOR S PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION 


li 

Ixxxviii 

xciv 


BOOK I. THE NORMAN VISITOR^ THE SAXON KING, AND 
THE DANISH PROPHETESS .... 

„ II. LANFRANC THE SCHOLAR .... 

,, III. THE HOUSE OF GODWIN .... 

,, IV. THE HEATHEN ALTAR AND THE SAXON CHURCH 
,, V. DEATH AND LOVE ..... 

,, VI. AMBITION ....... 

,, VII. THE WELCH KING ..... 

,, VIII. FATE 

,, IX. THE BONES OF THE DEAD .... 
„ X. THE SACRIFICE ON THE ALTAR 

,, XI. THE NORMAN SCHEMER, AND THE NORWEGIAN 
SEA-KING ....... 




XII. THE BATTLE OF HASTINGS 


I 

29 

53 

86 

122 

146 

183 

210 

235 

270 

316 

359 









LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACE PAGE 


HAROLD AND EDWARD THE CONFESSOR 

BURIAL OF EDWARD THE CONFESSOR .... 

« 

OFFERING THE CROWN TO HAROLD .... 

CORONATION OF HAROLD ...... 

SPECTATORS AT HAROLD’s CORONATION 

AN ENGLISH SHIP ....... 

KING HAROLD LEARNING THE NEWS OF WILLIAm’s 
PREPARATIONS ....... 

ANGLO SAXON MEN (ORDINARY CIVIL COSTUMe) . 

ANGLO SAXONS ARMED ...... 

ANGLO SAXON WOMEN (ORDINARY COSTUME) 

ANGLO SAXON WOMEN (cOSTUME) .... 

ANGLO SAXON HELMETS . . . . 

MOUNTED WARRIORS ....... 

ANGLO SAXON WEAPONS . . . 

THE SPOT AT BATTLE ABBEY WHERE HAROLD DIED . 


lii 

liv 

Ivi 

Iviii 

lx 

Ixii 



^ Ixviii' 

Ixx 

Ixxii 

Ixxviii 

Ixxx 













-■il 


J o 


f 


.•>T 


iHts 






> / 


»'®'1 


"Ir^ 


.vv 




|(f:x^v |\„4 


Wi 






'V 


• >. 




r 


• 




v>. 


V 7’ 




V* V 


vt» 




» M.. 




1-5 


4k.,''* /.-■’'^t 




V 4 


V' A*- 


.'f 






iv: 


« I > 


• ■ 






liv ■ X 

.> - * .fcOT 






k ? 




4- V 


( I 


L.**4 




iv:-'' 




4- , V-fJ, ' 


. Ti 

V- 

,f 


* * ^ .• 


»./ 




C. 


'Vi-' 




rC 






'■'‘S* ', , 


'■J.-.r.'-- 


m 




Vx 


\ J 


I- 


4. 


:. VI 


<‘‘ ■ vX- 

»• /* 


yi*-' 


I4.t 


i . 












•^’l- 


v^>' 


fr 






S‘ 


tk 


H,';* 






J^ 












Jtw 


4 r t 


* vWx 

ft M 


«•» 


.11 


353< 


"a^’ 

'.i i . ‘“V 












^ *C 






M. 




f f, Af*fj 

■'ily 

■ ’ ’r- 1' 


I? • ^ 


7 «a 


^ ^‘■ 


At 




if 






m 








r»« 


r <. V 


/:i 


^'/ j 


fc'-'r V, 




“w 






vV. 




-#;'t 


I'-* 






v« . V 


‘A',< 


ST' 


5 


I 


«< 










k r 


V 4 


^ r 


,>[*1 


^s':- 


.V 


\ I 




V '' ‘1^’ 


y-::Y¥'S< ‘ ■ ,fv-' ' 


#/*• > 


%<* ■ ,t-“ •'•>■ v 


II 






< ll 


#. u 






.'L 


y.' 




E>n 




^W 


•> ;* 


*< 




s^2' 












V*f^' V* ■.. '■ , ,i 




1 1 




T- ^ 




‘ I MW Ml Tr/ff-MT^r%4 f^ o ' I . ■ ' 






ly*- 


V. »' 




?f.C' 


k'* k /*». 


»1 


V 








:-; 




f- 1^' 




i.V 




r5. 




'I 




k* , .. . Af. • 

, '• C - ^ . •'’ SV. J V- ’•* 


Hi V, 


‘,'*3 


!K\^ 








»*f '. 




k ' ' 




4’ I 


iU 


t//] 


• A 




*s 


Ik 


i 








‘:«Fr 








f 






rx^^ 


i .♦; 


Ui 


?*• 


7!;Ai^ 


/.‘‘f 


»•- . j ««j. 4 • 

•nA. 


jr»k 


* ^PVg k ^ 

V 


/4 




<jD 1. 




v* 




*4 J 


X' 


V# 




'ri'/ 


m- 


7- 


R.i<L 


/ * - 


n^y* 




j. :< 








14 


a!-' 




■-’V 


fit 




. .Vj\\ 






^4 




Ai 


«1 




*1.7 -^4^^ 





Xibvare of 1bl6todcal iRovelo auO IRomanceo 

EDITED BY GEORGE LAUREKCE GOMME 

I 


7/^ 


HAROLD 

THE LAST OF THE 


SAXON KINGS 


V, 


INTRODUCTION 


English liistory contains few events of such concentrated 
dramatic interest as to call forth in the national mind a 
touch of feeling of the kind, if sustained, to have produced 
an epic ; but certainly the great battle of Hastings and 
its Saxon hero, Harold the King, claim the first place 
among such events. Harold not only closed the line of 
Saxon kingship, but, by his death and defeat, closed the 
last chapter of Saxon history. It was to be so. If England 
was to be great and powerful, a new political ideal was 
necessary, and that ideal rested not with Harold the Saxon, 
but with William the Norman and his court of drilled 
ecclesiastics and statesmen. One knows not whether the 
truth of this last fact has eaten into the English character, 
and thereby accorded to William a fairer fame than he 
deserves, but at least it is certain that, despite defeat and 
death by a successful rival, Harold stands out as a hero 
in English History. Unlike other monarchs who have had 
to give way to successful rivals, unlike Richard iii., who 
also found death on the field of battle, all the calumnies and 
hatred of the chroniclers and bards of the new regime have 
not succeeded in blackening the character of Harold, or 
lessening his place in history. And truly the figure of this 
prince is a noble one. Ambitious, no doubt ; in early years 
rash ; but, as Earl of ^Uessex and as king, everything that 
Englishmen of that age needed ; as soldier and as defender of 
his native soil from the invader, everything that Englishmen 
of any age might desire. 

With such events and such* a man controlling and head- 
ing them as material for romance, it is not surprising that 
they should have been used. That the writer should have 
been Edward Lytton Bulwer Lytton, Lord Lytton, is for- 
h 


X 


HAROLD 


tunate_, and that Lord Lytton should have put his best 
workmanship into this particular book, is still more for- 
tunate, for, among the voluminous productions of this 
author, there are occasions when the cunning hand of 
genius has forsaken him. Professing to keep very close | 
to history, it is a fact that the events of Harold’s life, the I 
characters which mingle with or shadow that life, the 
places and manners which illustrate it, are remarkably true 
to historical record. In one great and singularly touching 
detail, Harold’s relationship to Edith, Lord Lytton has 
departed for stated and perhaps sufficiently allowable reasons I 
from pure history ; in other and less important details, as I 
shall have occasion to point out presently, he is not true to 
the historical evidence we now possess, but in all other i 
respects this romance is true. And particularly does it ! 
appear true in the personality with which the author has 
endowed the characters, the spirit of life which he has 
infused into the dead bones of king, prince, chieftain, 
peasant, and priest. He arouses the feeling of great pity 
and of fathomless admiration for Harold and for his two 
faithful brothers, Gurth and Leofwine — he leads up to the 
final scene through other scenes not so great, but as 
picturesque. Harold, with his father coming to claim 
justice from Edward ; Harold, with his dead father and the 
living Leofric, once foe of that father ; Harold, with Gryffyth 
of Wales ; Harold in Normandy with the crafty W’'illiam ; 
Harold as king; Harold with his brother Tostig at Stam- 
fordbridge ; Harold with his mother, wife, and sister, on his 
way to Hastings; Harold, Gurth, and Leofwine, side by 
side against the Normans, while Edwin and Morcar, sworn 
to aid their king by ties of nationhood and kinship, lingered 
idly, perhaps traitorously in London ; Harold falling dead 
amidst the dead for England, aided to the last drop of life- 
blood by brothers as gallant as himself— these are indeed 
real men once more pictured to us from the almost hidden 
past. 

Considering the events which centre round the great 
house of Godwin, it is not possible to pause in thought over 
these men without formulating ideas as to their lost 0])por- 
tunities as well as of their great deeds. Of the six sons of 


INTRODUCTION 


xi 


Godwin, two only rallied loyally to the aid of their great 
brother — Gurth and Leofwine — and these two come down the 
stream of popular favour as w'orthy of their English home. 
It cannot be doubted, at least one does not like to doubt, 
that if Sw'eyn had lived, he too would have been at Hastings, 
possibly, as loyal assistant to his younger king-chosen brother 
instead of being king himself. As it w'as, it is pleasing to 
know' that w'e may, at least without direct contradiction 
from history, believe that Haco, son of Sweyn, was there 
fighting for his father’s brother, side by side with his other 
tw'o uncles, and it is possible, though doubtful, that he sur- 
vived the conflict and afterw'ards attempted to fight again 
for his house against William (see Freeman, Hist. Norm. 
Conq. iv. p. 584). Of Tostig, the brave, fierce, and handsome, 
killed at Stamfordbridge in alliance with a foreign foe, 
Harold Hardrada, and in professed aid of William himself, 
it is not possible to think with patience, for had his arm and 
followers aided his brother at Hastings, how might the issue 
have turned } 

‘ Let kith and kin stand close as our shield wall, 

Who breaks us then ? ’ 

are the words put into the mouth of Gurth by Tennyson. 
Of W ulfnoth, captive of William, nothing can be said from 
history except that he was released by the conqueror when 
on his death-bed — released, perhaps, to mourn over the 
events of Hastings as they w’ere told to him by chronicler or 
hard or legend, but to do nothing to show how he would 
have acted if he had been free to fight — whether as Tostig 
acted, or as Gurth and Leofwine acted. 

And what of the mother of all these gallant and heroic 
sons } What of the sister, wddow of King Edward } What of 
the widowed queen of Harold, sister of the traitors Edwin and 
Morcar } They had all gathered in London to say farewell 
to the three ere they set out for Hastings ; they all survived 
that fight. The chronicled acts of the mother show that 
she at least made no peace with the slayer of her sons, and 
her stand at Exeter, possibly wdth the sons of Harold around 
her, her flight and last days in Flamlers, are sufficient to 
indicate something of the saddened days which marked the 


xii 


HAROLD 


close of her life. Of the sister there are less favourable things 
to record^ even if she is not distinctly to be considered as a 
friend of the Norman conqueror. She retired to Winchester^ 
lived there till her death, and received honours and wealth 
from William. Of the widow, the sister of the traitors, 
nothing further is known after her retreat to Chester, except 
that William secured the son there born to Harold and kept 
him in prison until the repentance of a death-bed set him free. 

This, in general outline, is what the study of this romance 
first suggests, and I now proceed to more detailed examina- 
tion. The dramatis personce are as follows : — 

House of Godwin — 

Godwin, Earl of Wessex, died, 1053, in London. 

Githa, wife of Godwin, died in Flanders. 

Sweyn, eldest son of Godwin, died in Lykia on his pilgrimage to 
Jerusalem. 

Harold, second son, Earl of East Anglia, then Earl of Wessex, 
then King of the English, killed at Hastings in 1066. 

Tostig, third son of Godwin, killed at Stamfordbridge in 1066. 

Gurth, fourth son, killed at Hastings in 1066. 

Leofwine, fifth son, killed at Hastings in 1066. 

Wulfnoth, sixth son, kept prisoner by William till 1087, and is 
spoken of as being alive in Henry Ist’s reign. 

Haco, son of Sweyn Godwinsson, killed perhaps at Hastings in 
1066. 

Edith, daughter of Godwin, Queen of Edward the Confessor, died 
at Winchester in December 1075. 

Thyra [for jElfgifu], daughter of Godwin. 

Edith, the swan’s neck, beloved of Harold. 

House of Leofric — 

Leofric of Mercia, died 31st August 1057, at Bromley in Stafford- 
shire.! 

Algar, son of Leofric, died 1062.2 

' Very few of the greater Saxon nobles could pretend to a lengthened succes- 
sion in their demesnes. The wars with the Danes, the many revolutions whic 
threw new families uppermost, the confiscations and banishments, and the 
invariable rule of rejecting the heir, if not of mature years at his father’s death, 
caused rapid changes of dynasty in the several earldoms. But the family of 
Leofric had just claims to a very rare antiquity in their Mercian lordship. 
Leofric was the sixth Earl of Chester and Coventry, in lineal descent from his 
namesake, Leofric the First ; he extended the supremacy of his hereditary 
lordship over all Mercia. (See Dugdale, Monast. vol. iii. p. 102 ; and 
Palgrave’s Commonwealth, Proofs and Illustrations, p. 291.) — [L.] 

2 Some of the chroniclers say that he married the daughter of Gryffyth, the 
King of North Wales, but Gryffyth certainly married Algar’s daughter, and 


INTRODUCTION xiii 

Morcar, son of Algar Leofricson, died in captivity, 

Edwin, son of Algar Leofricson, killed on his flight to Scotland 
1071. 

Aldyth, daughter of Algar, wife of Gryffyth King of North 
Wales, and then of Harold King of the English. 

Edward the Confessor, King of the English, 1004-1066. 

Siward, Earl of the Northumbrians, died at York, 1055. 

Gamil Beorn, a Northumbrian chief. 

Gryffyth, King of North AVales, killed 5th August, 1063. 

Caradoc, son of Gryffyth. ^ 

Aired, Bishop of Winchester, then of York, died 1069. 

Robert, Archbishop of Canterbury. 

William, Bishop of London. 

Stigand, Archbishop of Canterburj’-, 1052-1070. 

Edgar Atheling, died in obscurity. 

Margaret, sister of Edgar, died 1093. ^ 

Normans — 

William, Duke of the Normans, then King of the English, 1027-87. 
Matilda, wife of William, died 1083. 

Robert Curthose, son of AYilliam (as a boy). 

William Rufus (as a boy). 

Adeliza, daughter of William. 

Odo, Bishop of Bayeux, half-brother of William, died 1097. 
Judith, sister of Matilda, and wife of Tostig Godwinsson. 
Fitzosborn, a Norman baron, Earl of Hereford, died 1071. 
William Mallet de Graville. 

Raoul de Tancarville, Grand Chamberlain to William. 

Taillefer, the Norman minstrel. 

Lanfranc of Pavia, afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury, died 
1089. 

Rolf, Earl of Hereford, nephew of King Edward, and son of his 
sister Goda, or Godiva.^ 

Hugues Margrot, a m.onk, envoy of William to King Harold. 
Norwegians — 

Harold Hardrada, King of the Norwegians, killed at Stamford- 
bridge in 1066. 

Clave, son of Hardrada. 

that double alliance could not have been permitted. It was probably, 
therefore, some more distant kinswoman of Gryffyth’s that was united to 
Algar.-IL.] 

1 Gryffyth left a son, Caradoc ; but he was put aside as a minor, according to 
the Saxon customs.— [L.] 

^ Afterwards married to Malcolm of Scotland, through whom, bj' the female 
line, the present royal dynasty of England assumes descent from the Anglo- 
Saxon kings. — [L.] 

® Lytton says in a note that Palgrave observes that this nobleman should be 
styled Earl of the Magestan (Welsh Marches). 


XIV 


HAROLD 


Imaginative — 

Hilda, cousin to Githa, wife of Godwin. 

Godrith, a Saxon noble. 

Vebba, a Kentish chief. 

Mereddyd, a Welsh chief. 

Sexwolf, a Saxon chief. 

Abbot of a monastery in the Welsh Marches. 

Bard to the Welsh King Gryffyth. 

Evan, monk of Gwentland. 

Witch in the forest near Hilda’s house. 

It is indicative of the fidelity of tliis romance to history, 
to note how few are the imaginative characters which the 
author has introduced, and how even these are but the 
elements necessary to portray the unrecorded facts of history. 
All the story centres in Harold. It opens, as it ends, 
with his great rival, William of Normandy, and Harold 
first appears upon the scene as an outlaw returning to his 
country at the head of armed men to demand restoration to 
his rights. But this treatment of events only serves, as it 
is intended to serve, to heighten the position which Harold 
subsequently reaches in the reader s imagination. And the 
picture drawn of Harold himself is astonishingly close to the 
chroniclers’ record of him — those chroniclers at all events 
who wrote from the English side and who were not Normans. 

Lytton’s romance in this respect may be said to mark an 
epoch in the view which English historians were subsequently 
to hold of Harold. Almost all before Lytton’s time held to 
the opinion that Harold was perjured, traitor, and usurper, 
and the great influence of Palgrave was thrown on this side. 
Hume and all the lesser historians take the same view. 
Historical criticism had not learned to discriminate amongst 
the various sources of information, to separate the Norman 
view from the English view. It is therefore not a little to 
the credit of this romance, that it strikes the keynote for 
the English view, that it represents, if partially, at all events 
truly to the English chroniclers, how Harold was considered 
by his fellow-countrymen. And this view has been upheld 
by the great historian of this period, Mr. Freeman, with a 
wealth of rhetoric and learning which almost allows of his 
critics’ contention, that an element of romance has entered 


XV 


INTRODUCTION 

into his view of history. Certainly in one interesting note, 
Mr. Freeman confesses to having been influenced by 
romance and by the particular romance of Lytton, which we 
are now dealing with. When reconsidering his evidence for 
the presence of Haco, son of Sweyn, at Hastings, Mr. Free- 
man confesses that he ^may perhaps have been somewhat 
influenced by the part which Hakon plays in Lord Lytton’s 
romance.’ {Hist. Norm. Gonq. iii. p. 475 note). It will be 
seen later on, I think, that probably the historian and the 
romancist are in touch in other places, but that the influence 
of Lord Lytton in shaping the view taken of Harold is so 
distinctly traceable is not a slight tribute to the author’s 
genius and truth. Another influence which again connects 
Mr. Freeman’s history with Lord Lytton’s romance is shown 
in the dedication which Tennyson prefixes to his drama of 
Harold. The dedication is to the second Lord Lytton : — 

‘ After old-world records — such as the Bayeux Tapestry and the 
Roman de Ron — Edward Freeman’s History of the Norman Con- 
quest, and your father’s Historical Romance, treating of the same 
times, have been mainly helpful to me in writing this drama. Your 
father dedicated his Harold to my father’s brother ; allow me to 
dedicate my Harold to yourself.’ 

The story introduces the chief historical events of the 
period : the visit of William of Normandy to King Edward 
in 1051-2 ; the return of Godwin and his sons in 1052 ; the 
death of Godwin on April 15th, 1058 ; the conquest of Wales 
by Harold in 1063, and the murder of Gryffyth of Wales on 
August 5th ; the visit of Harold to William in Normandy, his 
detention there and his alleged oath to William as to the 
crown in 1064 ; the release of Harold from his oath, the 
offering of the crown to Harold by the nobles, the death of 
Edward, and his nomination of Harold as his successor in 
1065-6; the accession and crowning of Harold on January 
6th, 1066 ; the battle of Stamfordbridge on September 25th, 
and the battle of Hastings on October 14th, 1066. 

These events follow on in quick succession, except for the 
gap between 1053 and 1063. This period is not indicated 
by the story, beyond the description of Harold’s growing 
ambition and the attempt upon his life by the W elsh allies 
of Algar. There is no historical evidence for this episode. 


XVI 


HAROLD 

and it seems too improbable to allow as an illustration of 
the times^ for the W elsh could not have traversed across 
England unnoticed and unsuspected. But probably it was 
suggested by an attack upon Harold by brigands in Italy 
when travelling there about this period. AV^hether Harold s 
ambition had at this date taught him to look forward to the 
crown is very doubtful^ for, during the period following the 
death of Godwin, he took a long journey through France, 
and thence to Rome. There is some doubt about the exact 
date of this journey, but the period 1056-1058 cannot be far 
from the truth. Mr. Freeman distinctly suggests that prior 
to his pilgrimage events had so shaped themselves that 
Harold could not but have contemplated what the nation 
itself had contemplated, the probability of the crown falling 
to him by the sheer weight of necessity. For the purposes 
of the romance, this pilgrimage was perhaps not only un- 
necessary, but somewhat distracting, and so we pass through 
the ten years, 1053-1068, with simply the general indica- 
tion of Earl Harold’s lofty position and still loftier hopes. 
The remaining events are more minutely dealt with in the 
romance, and to these we now turn. 

The termination of William’s visit to England in 1052 
opens the story. The chronicle of Worcester describes the 
visit in terse though significant words : ^William Earl came 
from beyond sea with mickle company of Frenchmen, and 
the King him received and as many of his comrades as to 
him seemed good, and let him go again.’ Lytton’s expansion 
of this record fills the first two books of his romance. Of 
the historical characters brought into the story at this stage, 
all, except that of Edith, may be accepted as acting true to 
their position in history. William’s courtesy and cunning, 
the Norman nobles’ contempt for the English, the peasants’ 
sturdy independence, and the King’s unkingly attitude in 
the country’s affairs are well drawn. The introduction of 
Lanfranc of Pavia as a visitor to William in England is not 
founded on fact, but the advice given, and the extraordinary 
ability and learning of the priest, are in accord with what is 
known of Lanfranc’s career. The historian, Muth the meagre 
record before him, cannot do more than suggest some of the 
({uestioiis Mdiich spring at once to the mind. William in 


INTRODUCTION 


xvii 


England met none of the family of Godwin^ who were most 
hostile to all his projects, but, says Mr. Freeman, ^ We ask 
in vain. Did he meet the stout warrior Siward? Did he 
meet the mediator Leofric ? Did he meet the primate who 
w'tis, fifteen years later, to place the crown on his own brow, 
or the other primate whom he was himself to pluck down 
from the throne whence England had driven the Norman 
Robert.^’ {Norm. Conq. ii. p. 310). These unanswerable ques- 
tions open up just the possibilities which the romance 
writer most desires. They are questions which appeal 
directly to the imagination, and Lord Lytton, at least, 
answ^ered one ©f them in that fine touch of genuine 
historic insight w’^hich describes William’s conversation with 
Siward at the court of King Edward (pp. 48-9). And in 
our turn w^e are entitled to ask whether this passage in the 
romance did not dictate to the historian the questions he 
puts as unanswerable, but as calling for answers from the 
fascination which the events must exert over the minds of 
the least imaginative reader. 

At this early stage in the story w'e meet with the chief 
non-historical character, Hilda ; the chief non-historical 
events, witchcraft and seers’ work ; and the chief historical 
character who is fashioned in terms of romance and not of 
history, Edith, the swan’s neck. The episodes distinctly aid 
the story. It is impossible to doubt the influence of Scott 
in the conception of the Danish prophetess Hilda and in 
the effective use to which her actions are put in the story. 
Lytton makes her the medium through which Harold works 
towards a knowdedge of his destiny, and hence towards a 
desire for its accomplishment. The picture, unhistorical as 
it is, cannot be said to be out of keeping with the times. 
The Saxons retained many of their ancient pagan beliefs, 
and the Danes, much later in their nominal acceptance of 
Christianity, retained still more. The weird phantasy of 
belief, the dark allusions to the older and still-revered 
gods of their ancestral worship, are quite compatible with 
the claims made for Hilda to be kinswoman of Githa, the 
wife of Godwin ; and Lord Lytton has not drawn an un- 
faithful picture of the Danes in the account he gives us 
from King Edward’s mouth of Hilda and her doings. 


xviii 


HAROLD 


In one respect^ however, I hold that the picture is untrue. 
Neither Saxon nor Dane adopted the Roman villas for their 
own homes. All the evidence goes in the opposite direction, 
and even if, towards the end of the Saxon period, the earlier 
feeling — religious in its origin — against such a practice had 
somewhat dimmed, certainly such a character as Hilda 
would not have been one to have allowed the growth of new 
ideas to have influenced her conduct in this respect. Lytton, 
in drawing the Danish tendencies of Hilda in strong 
colours, and rightly so drawing them, has not taken count 
of the religious feeling for the homestead as the abode of 
the household gods which would have been quite sufficient to 
make it extremely improbable for a Danish pagan to have 
made a home of a Roman villa. The belief that the house- 
hold gods of the dead Romans would war against and seek 
revenge against the invader is quite sufficient to account for 
the destruction of Roman centres of civilisation in Britain, 
and for their desolation where destruction was not actually 
accomplished. Possibly Lytton might have been influenced 
in this respect by the earlier romances, instead of relying 
strictly upon the evidence of history, though it is fair to 
acknowledge that when Lytton was writing, the evidence 
had not been clearly stated. Tlie romancists of the early 
nineteenth century had no sufficent reasons against such a 
picturesque manner of introducing the remains of Roman 
antiquity, and in Edwin Atherstone’s Sea Kings of England, 
written in 1830, a distinct precedent is set for this idea. 

As, however, we are introduced to the Roman villa, it will 
be of advantage to understand the author’s evidence for the 
details he gives concerning it. It is stated to be situated on 
the Great Kent Road, just outside the southern outskirts of 
the city of London, and near to a hillock on mLIcIi ‘ were the 
mutilated remains of an ancient Druidical crommel, in the 
centre of which (near a funeral mound or barrow with the 
bautastean or grave stone of some early Saxon chief at one 
end), had been sacrilegiously placed an altar to Thor, as was 
apparent both from the shape, from a rude half-obliterated 
sculptured relief of the god with liis lifted hammer and a 
few runic letters. Amidst the temple of the Briton, the Saxon 
had raised tlie shrine of his triumphant war god ’ (pp. 3-4). 


INTRODUCTION 


xix 


The question presents itself therefore in a somewhat compli- 
cated shape. Did the Romans build their villas near Druidi- 
cal temples ? Did the Saxons erect their altars near Roman 
villas and Druid temples ? Did the Danes live in the ruined 
villas of the Romans, near the sacred precincts of the gods 
of British and Saxons ? Is there any place in Kent which 
might answer to this archaeological ruin ? 

To each of these questions on the evidence of the archaeo- 
logical remains must be returned a negative answer. The 
Romans occupied and used British camps, the Saxons built 
their towns alongside and out of the ruins of Roman towns, 
but there is no evidence of continuity of site for dwelling- 
place and worship, such as is represented in the story. So 
far as Kent is concerned, the evidence is slighter than in 
any part of the kingdom. At Aylesford there are megalithic 
remains, the well-known Kits Coty House, and Roman 
foundations ; at several places there are Roman and Saxon 
interments near each other. But there is nothing to suggest 
the closeness of the three civilisations which is represented 
in the story. 

Crayford is the nearest site to London where founda- 
tions of Roman buildings have been found, and the recently 
discovered remains at Darenth are a little further oif out of 
the line of the Roman road. To understand the Roman 
villa, there is no better description than that given by Pliny 
the Younger, in a letter to his friend Apollinaris, of his 
villa in Tuscany, about fifty miles from Rome. This de- 
scription is as follows ; the translation being that of Mr. 
Melmoth (iib. v. letter 6) : — 

‘ The expositiou of the principal front of the house is full south, 
and seems to invite the afternoon sun in summer (but somewhat 
earlier in winter) into a spacious and well-proportioned portico, con- 
sisting of several members, particularly an atrium built in the 
ancient manner. In front of the portico is a sort of terrace, embel- 
lished with various figures, and bounded with a box hedge, from 
whence you descend by an easy slope, adorned with the representa- 
tion of divers animals in box {cui hestiarum effigies invicem adversa 
buxus inscripsit) answering alternately to each other, in a lawn 
overspread with the soft, I had almost said the liquid. Acanthus : 
this is surrounded by a walk enclosed with tonsile evergreens, shaped 
into a variety of forms. Beyond is the gestatio, laid out in the form 


XX 


HAROLD 


of a circus, ornamented in the middle with box art in numberless 
different figures, together with a plantation of shrubs, prevented by 
the sheers from shooting up too high : the whole is fenced in with 
a wall covered by box, rising by different ranges to the top. On the 
outside of the wall lies a meadow that owes as many beauties to 
nature as all I have been describing within does to art ; at the end 
of which are several other meadows and fields interspersed with 
thickets. At the extremity of this portico stands a grand triclinium 
{a capite porticus triclinium excurrit), which opens upon one end of 
the terrace ; as from the windows there is a very extensive prospect 
over the meadows up into the country, from whence you also have a 
view of the terrace ; and such parts of the house which project for- 
ward, together with the woods enclosing the adjacent hippodrome. 
Opposite almost to the centre of the portico stands a square edifice, 
which encompasses a small area, shaded by four plane-trees, in the 
midst of which a fountain rises, from whence the water, running 
over the edges of a marble basin, gently refreshes the surrounding 
plane-trees, and the verdure underneath them. This apartment con- 
sists of a cuhiculum (est in hac diaeta dormitorium cuhiculum), 
secured from every kind of noise, and which the light itself cannot 
penetrate; together with a common coenatio which I use when I 
have none but intimate friends with me {junctaque et quotidiana 
amicorvm coenatio). A second portico looks upon this little area, and 
has the same prospect with the former I just now described. There 
is, besides, another cuhiculum {est et aliud cuhiculum)^ which, being 
situated close to the nearest plane-tree, enjoys a constant shade and 
verdure : its sides are incrusted half-way with carved marble, and 
from thence to the ceiling a foliage is painted with birds intermixed 
among the branches which has an effect altogether as agreeable as 
that of the carving : {marmore excultum podio tenus, nec ccdit 
gratiae nuirmoris ramos insidentesque ramis aves imitata pictura), at 
the basis of a fountain, playing through several small pipes into 
a vase, produces a most pleasing murmur. From a corner of this 
portico you enter into a very sjDacious cuhiculum, opposite to the 
grand triclinium, which, from some of its windows, has a view of 
the terrace, and from others, of the meadow ; as those in the front 
look upon a cascade, which entertains at once both the eye and the 
ear; for the water, dashing from a great height, foams over the 
marble basin that receives it below. This cuhiculum is extremely 
warm in winter, being much exposed to the sun ; and in a cloudy 
day, the heat of an adjoining hypocaust very well supplies his 
absence. From hence you pass through a spacious and pleasant 
undressing-room into the cold-bath-room in which is a large gloomy 
bath {hide apodyterium halnei laxum et hilare eoccipit cella 
frigida in quahaptisterium amplum atque opacum); but if you are 
disposed to swim more at large, or in warmer water, in the middle of 


INTRODUCTION 


xxi 


the area is a wide basin for that purpose, and near it a reservoir from 
whence you may be supplied with cold water to brace yourself again, 
if you should perceive you are too much relaxed by the warm. Con- 
tiguous to the cold-bath is another of a moderate degree of heat, 
which enjoys the kindly warmth of the sun, but not so intensely as 
that of the hot-bath, which projects farther. This last consists of 
three divisions, each of different degrees of heat : the two former lie 
entirely open to the sun ; the latter, though not so much exposed to 
its rays, receives an equal share of its light. Over the undressing- 
room is built the tennis-court, which, by means of particular circles, 
admits of different kinds of games. {Apodyterio superpositum est 
sphacristerium quod plura genera exercitationis, pluresque circulos 
capit.) Not far from the baths is the staircase {non procul autem a 
balneo scalae) leading to the inclosed portico, after you have first passed 
through three apartments; one of these looks upon the little area 
with the four plane-trees round it; the other has a sight of the 
meadows ; and from the third you have a view of several vineyards : 
so that they have as many different prospects as expositions. At 
one end of the enclosed portico, and, indeed, taken off from it, is a 
chamber that looks upon the hippodrome, the vineyards, and the 
mountains ; adjoining is a room which has a full exposure to the sun, 
especially in winter ; and from whence runs an apartment that con- 
nects the hippodrome with the house ; such is the form and aspect of 
the front. On the side rises an enclosed summer portico, which has 
not only a prospect of the vineyards, but seems almost contiguous to 
them. From the middle of the portico, you enter a triclinium, 
cooled by the salutary breezes from the Apennine valleys ; from 
the windows in the back front, which are extremely large, there is a 
prospect of the vineyards ; as you have also another view of them 
from the folding-doors, through the summer portico. ( Valvis aeque 
vineas sed per cryptoporticum quasi admittit.) Along that side of 
this dining-room {a latere triclinii), where there are no windows, 
runs a private scakt for the greater conveniency of serving at enter- 
tainments : at the farther end is a chamber from whence the eye is 
pleased with a view of the vineyards, and (what is not less agreeable) 
of the portico. Underneath this room is an inclosed portico, some- 
what resembling a grotto, which, enjoying in the midst of the summer 
heats its own natural coolness, neither admits or wants the refresh- 
ment of external breezes. After you have passed both these porticos, 
at the end of the triclinium stands a third, which, as the day is more 
or less advanced, serves either for winter or summer use. It leads 
to two different apartments, one containing four chambers, the other 
three, each enjoying by turns both sun and shade. In the front of 
these agreeable buildings lies a very spacious hippodrome, entirely 
open in the middle, by which means the eye, upon your first entrance, 
takes in its whole extent at one glance.’ 


xxii 


HAROLD 


The first point to note about this is the closeness of the 
description to Lytton’s account of Hilda’s home in the ruined 
Roman villa. We may take for such a home one of the 
many foundations opened up of late years in various parts of 
England^ and perhaps that of Chedworth, seven miles from 
Cirencester in Gloucestershire^ is one of the best types. 
This is figured in Morgan’s Romano-British Mosaic Pavements. 
In the portion which may be regarded as the villa urhana, 
or the apartments of the proprietor_, there were sixteen 
chambers and two long corridors. The principal apartments 
faced the east, looking up the pretty valley of the Coin. 
The long corridor and the rooms behind it, in which are 
some very fine pavements, caught the beams of the rising 
sun, and must in summer have been gratefully cool in the 
evening. In this portion at the northern end were the 
baths, and a flight of steps leading into them from the 
corridor. In continuation of the line of buildings facing the 
east is a very interesting portion containing an octagonal 
basin of pure water fed from a spring near at hand. At one 
end was a stone altar, and there were three small recesses in 
the wall ; probably, therefore, here was a small temple 
dedicated to the family god. J ust below this reservoir, and 
at right angles to the eastern corridor, is a second long 
corridor, the upper portion of which was supported on pillars, 
two of which remain in situ. At the back of the corridor is 
a range of buildings, probably the villa rustica allotted to the 
servants. 1 Such a villa as this has not been found in Kent, 
but it is allowable, if the circumstances had sanctioned it, to 
assume that what is thus known to have existed in Gloucester- 
shire existed too in other parts of the country. 

It will have been noticed that Pliny describes as a feature 
of the garden scenery of his villa the box trees cut to the 
shape of animals and other designs. It is not a little curious, 
and may be directly due to Roman influences, that in the 
neighbourhood of Roman sites, box trees, cut in shape of 
birds and animals, are to this day a noticeable feature of 
garden ornamentation. The best instance of this known to 
me is in the district of Bitterne, the site of tlie Roman 
stotion Clausentum, near the modern Southampton, where 

^ Cf, Journal British Archceological Association, xxv,'2i8-22i. 


INTRODUCTION 


XXlll 


in many of the gardens attached to the cottages and small 
houses is to be seen a box tree cut to some fantastic shape 
of bird or animal. 

These places^ as I have said, were not the scenes for Norse 
religious rites, but the rites themselves, as described by 
Lytton, are interesting adaptations of the older religion to 
help forward the progress of the story. Hilda is made to 
exclaim to Githa (on p. 127) : ^ The flame is the light of the 
soul, the element everlasting, and it liveth still when it 
escapes from our view ; it burneth in the shapes to which 
it passes ; it vanishes, but is never extinct. ' This passage 
very well expresses the ancient Norse, Teutonic and Celtic 
beliefs in the sacred fire, the abode of the house god, the 
representative of the dead ancestors of the family. The 
contact between the ancient religions of the north and 
Christianity resulted in the degradation, not the eradication, 
of the former, and Lytton has drawn a correct picture when 
he represents the form of belief at this time to have been 
expressed in the apparition and in the vala or witch. The 
old gods Odin or Wodin had been transformed into spectral 
fancies which gradually assimilated round the conception of 
the biblical Satan ; and the lovely shield-maidens, the com- 
panions of the Norse God, and the ideal of womanhood to 
the rude chivalry of the north, had been transformed into 
the prophetess or sorceress, such as Hilda, to become at a 
still later period the witch or hag. Those interested in this 
part of the subject should consult Mr. Keary’s Outlines of 
Primitive Belief 509, et seq.) where will be found ample 
justification for Lord Lytton’s picture of the ancient Norse 
belief as it might have developed at the end of the Saxon 
period. 

It will be convenient at this point to note how Lord Lytton 
has drawn the character of Edith. The person is historical, 
but the part she plays in Harold’s life is not that of the 
story. She probably was married to him Danish fashion or 
handfasted, that is, for a period and not for life, subject to 
rules which were not tolerated by the church. There is 
ample evidence that such marriages were common among 
the Saxon nobility and chiefs, and indeed among all the 
northern nations, and of course it is well known that William 


xxiv 


HAROLD 


himself was the offspring' of some such union. Amongst the 
popular customs of the peasantry, and amongst the traditional 
games of our children, this old form of marriage has been 
preserved (see my wife’s Traditional Games of England, Scot- 
land and Ireland, s.v. ^ Sally water’ and see the glossary infra, 
s.v. ^Frilla’). There is, therefore, no warrant to indulge in 
arguments against the morality of Harold in this respect, and 
all that is necessary to say is that Edith was the mother of 
several children born to Harold, of whom five at least — 
Godwin, Eadmund, Magnus, Gunhild, and Gytha, are known 
to history (see Freeman’s Norm. Conq. iv. p. 754). It is a point 
to note about these children that two of them bore the names, 
Godwin and Gytha, of their illustrious grandparents, that 
they were present with their gi*andmother at Exeter after 
the battle of blastings, and that Gytha probably married 
Waldemar, King of Novgorod, and had a son named Harold 
— surely indication enough that the marriage with Edith was 
in accord with the customs of the time. That Edith should 
have stood aside to make way for the marriage of policy, 
with Aldwyth, is in accord with her traditional character — a 
character made touching by the beautiful name, Edith 
Swanneshals, Edith of the swan’s neck, and by the last sad 
office she alone was found capable of performing for the 
dead hero of Hastings. 

The return of Godwin from outlawry in 1052 is the next 
point of history reached by the story. The scene is a bold 
one, and perhaps London is drawn with too great a tendency 
to magnify its wealth and position. Lord Lytton had before ■ 
him Fitz-Stephen’s description belonging to the reign of 
Henry ir., and he has used this account to the full extent 
of the romancist’s licence. The witenagemot of 1052 is very 
finely described, and the speeches of Godwin and Sweyn are 
conceived exactly in the spirit of the time and the occasion. 
Of Godwin’s eloquence there is ample chronicle evidence, 
and Lytton quotes on p. 88 the words of William of 
Malmesbury. The presence of Sw'eyn, however, is not in 
accord with the best accounts, though it is supported by 
Thierry, and Freeman notes the fine scene Lytton has made 
of it. (See Hist. Norm. Conq. ii. p. 651.) 

Godwin’s character has been variously estimated. Lytton’s 


INTRODUCTION 


kxv 


view is not an unreasonable one, and the story of his death 
is derived directly from the Chronicles. As to his share 
in Alfred’s death, a footnote by Lytton to p. 88 exactly 
describes the case : ^It is just to Godwin to say that there 
is no proof of his share in this barbarous transaction ; 
the presumptions, on the contrary, are in his favour ; but 
the authorities are too contradictory, and the whole event 
too obscure to enable us unhesitatingly to confirm the 
acquittal he received in his own age, and from his own 
national tribunal.’ 

Next we are taken to the conquest of Wales in 1063. 
This was the second campaign against the Welsh, but by 
far the more successful, and it may be considered one of 
Harold’s chief military exploits, for it not only shows his 
capacity very thoroughly, but suggests, perhaps for the first 
time in a decided manner, that he was the one man in Eng- 
land capable of meeting a foe. He did not go to Wales as 
Earl of the Marches, for Edwin was Earl in succession to 
Algar, but he went as the appointed substitute of the king. 
Lytton’s narrative is full of just discrimination between the 
W elsh and Saxon civilisation, and the wild rudeness of the 
AVelsh defence is brilliantly told, and emphasises the care 
which Harold took to train his men for Welsh warfare, by 
adopting tactics different from the usual Saxon mode, but 
suitable to the Welsh hills and the Welsh system. Giraldus 
Cambrensis, writing a century later, notes that the scenes of 
the various conflicts were marked, after the ancient fashion, by 
stones which bore the inscription ^ Hie fuit victor Haroldus ’ 
(see p. 178). The chronicle records of the campaign are not 
long, but they all bear splendid testimony to the military 
genius of the Earl, and to the success which he accom- 
plished. The campaign probably lasted from May to August 
1063, according to the Worcester and Peterborough Chron- 
icles, though other chronicles give a longer period. The 
death of Gryffyth, the king, is said by one chronicler to have 
been ordered by Harold as a condition of peace, but the ex- 
pressions of the Worcester chronicler, Florence, and of the 
Welsh Chronicle, all read as if the deed were the work of 
the Welsh themselves. Gryffyth was the last of the Welsh 
kings who showed conspicuously any military genius and 
c 


I 


XXVI 


HAROLD 


kingly power of government, and his defeat and death left 
England free for many years to come. 

In 1004 happened the most important event in Harold’s 
career, and this duly finds place in the story, the visit to 
Normandy. The particular version of the event adopted by 
Lytton is not considered by Mr. Freeman to be reliable 
{Hist. Norm. Conq. hi. p. 220), but it is so far founded 
on contemporary records as to be within the domain of 
history. Lytton sketches the event very minutely (pp. 
218-222), observing in a note: ^The above reasons for 
Harold’s memorable expedition are sketched at this length, 
because they suggest the most probable motives which in- 
duced it, and furnish, in no rash and inconsiderate policy, 
that key to his visit, which is not to be found in chronicler 
or historian.’ There is, however, too much sound argument 
against it to accept it as the true version. Godwin was not 
the man to leave his son and grandson in captivity, and 
Harold and Tostig were too powerful in England for it to 
be necessary for hostages of any sort to be kept for their 
faith — certainly not hostages such as brother and nephew. 
Harold apparently sailed from Bosham for a cruise in the 
Channel, and Mr. Freeman thinks he was accompanied by 
AFulfiioth, Haco, and perhaps his sister. They were driven 
by stress of weather to the coast of Ponthieu, the Count of 
which country seized upon the Earl and his company, and 
flung them into the fortress of Beaurain, near Hesdin. One 
of the party, escaping, hastened to Rouen and begged for the 
Duke’s assistance. William sent to Count Guy demanding 
the captives’ release, and Harold was thus welcomed as the 
guest of William at Rouen. All the main incidents of the 
story are given by Lytton. The blandishments of Matilda, 
the engagement or attempted engagement of Harold to a 
daughter of William, Harold’s knighthood, the oath to 
William, and the trick as to the relics of the saints are all 
events told in the chronicles. There was, besides, a campaign 
into Britanny, in which Harold, even by Norman chroniclers, 
gained great fame, but this event is not used by Lytton. 
Of course, the oath is a debatable question — what did Harold 
promise, and under what conditions.? Even if Lytton’s 
narrative is filled out too fully, it seems not far from the 


INTRODUCTION 


xxvii 


true state of things. There was an oath under some sort 
of compulsion, there was a rejection of that oath by 
Harold when he was king. The rejection is, of course, 
made the most of by the Norman chroniclers. But how 
else could Harold act No one could have defended 
England against the Normans except Harold, and he could 
not be traitor to his country even if false to liis oath. The 
whole story is discreditable as much to William as to 
Harold, perhaps more so to William than to Harold, but 
Lytton’s method of treating it is, at least, a reasonable way 
of looking at it, even from the purely historical point of 
view. 

Harold’s conduct after returning from Normandy, and 
his nomination by Edward the Confessor as successor to 
the crown, are the next events in 1065-6. Lytton, in a 
lengthy note to p. 320, discusses this part of the historical 
record in a manner which leaves nothing more to say. The 
note is as follows : — 

^ There are, as is well known, two accounts as to Edward 
the Confessor’s death-bed disposition of the English crown. 
The Norman chroniclers affirm, first, that Edward promised 
William the crown during his exile in Normandy ; secondly, 
that Siward, Earl of Northumbria, Godwin, and Leofric 
had taken oath, serment de la main,” to receive him as 
Seigneur after Edward’s death, and that the hostages, 
Wolnoth and Haco, were given to the Duke in pledge of 
that oath thirdly, that Edward left him the crown by 
will. 

^Let us see what probability there is of truth in these 
three assertions. 

^ First, Edward promised William the crown when in 
Normandy. 

^This seems probable enough, and it is corroborated 
indirectly by the Saxon chroniclers, when they unite in 
relating Edward’s warnings to Harold against his visit to 
the Norman court. Edward might well be aware of 
William’s designs on the crown (though in those warnings 
he refrains from mentioning them) — might remember the 
authority given to those designs by his own early promise, 

1 William of Poitiers. 


xxviii 


HAROLD 


and know the secret purpose for which the hostages were 
retained by William, and the advantages he would seek to 
gain from having Harold himself in his power. But this 
promise in itself was clearly not binding on the English 
people, nor on any one but Edward, who without the 
sanction of the Witan could not fulfil it. And that 
William himself could not have attached great importance 
to it during Edward’s life is clear, because, if he had, the 
time to urge it was when Edward sent into Germany for the 
Atheling, as the heir-presumptive of the throne. This was 
a virtual annihilation of the promise ; but William took no 
step to urge it, made no complaint and no remonstrance. 

' Secondly, that Godwin, Siward, and Leofric, had taken 
oaths of fealty to William. 

^This appears a fable wholly without foundation. VThen 
could those oaths have been pledged } Certainly not after 
Harold’s visit to William, for they were then all dead. At 
the accession of Edward ? This is obviously contradicted by 
the stipulation which Godwin and the other chiefs of the 
^Titan exacted, that Edward should not come accompanied 
by Norman supporters — by the evident jealousy of the 
Normans entertained by those chiefs, as by the whole 
English people, who regarded the alliance of Ethelred with 
the Norman Emma as the cause of the greatest calamities 
— and by the marriage of Edward himself with Godwin’s 
daughter, a marriage which that Earl might naturally 
presume would give legitimate heirs to the throne. In the 
interval between Edward’s accession and Godwin’s outlawry.!^ 
No ; for all the English chroniclers, and, indeed, the Nor- 
man, concur in representing the ill-will borne by Godwin 
and his House to the Norman favourites, whom, if they 
could have anticipated William’s accession, or were in 
any way bound to William, they would have naturally 
conciliated. But Godwin’s outlawry is the result of the 
breach between him and the foreigners. In William’s visit 
to Edward ? No ; for that took place when Godwin was an 
exile; and even the writers who assert Edward’s early 
promise to William declare that nothing was then said as 
to the succession to the throne. To Godwin’s return from 
outlawry the Norman chroniclers seem to refer the date of 


INTRODUCTION 


XXIX 


this pretended oath, by the assertion that the hostages were 
given in pledge of it. This is the most monstrous sup- 
position of all ; for Godwin’s return is followed by the 
banishment of the Norman favourites — by the utter down- 
fall of the Norman party in England — by the decree of the 
AV’'itan, that all the troubles in England had come from 
the Normans — by the triumphant ascendency of Godwin’s 
House. And is it credible for a moment, that the great 
English Earl could then have agreed to a pledge to transfer 
the kingdom to the very party he had expelled, and expose 
himself and his party to the vengeance of a foe he had 
thoroughly crushed for the time, and whom, without any 
motive or object, he himself agreed to restore to power 
for his own probable perdition ? When examined, this 
assertion falls to the ground from other causes. It is not 
among the arguments that William uses in his embassies 
to Harold ; it rests mainly upon the authority of William 
of Poitiers, who, though a contemporary, and a good 
authority on some points purely Norman, is grossly ignorant 
as to the most accredited and acknowledged facts in all 
that relate to the English. Even with regard to the 
hostages he makes the most extraordinary blunders. He 
says they were sent by Edward, with the consent of his 
nobles, accompanied by Robert, Archbishop of Canterbury. 
Now Robert, Archbishop of Canterbury, had fled from 
England as fast as he could fly on the return of Godwin ; 
and arrived in Normandy, half drowned, before the hostages 
were sent, or even before the Witan which reconciled 
Edward and Godwin had assembled. He says that William 
restored to Harold his young brother ” ; whereas it was 
Haco, the nephew, who was restored ; we know, by Norman 
as well as Saxon chroniclers, that Wolnoth, the brother, 
was not released till after the Conqueror’s death (he was 
re-imprisoned by Rufus) ; and his partiality may be judged 
by the assertion, first, that ^^"STilliam gave nothing to a 
Norman that was unjustly taken from an Englishman ” ; 
and secondly, that Odo, whose horrible oppressions revolted 
even William himself, never had an equal for justice, 
and that all the English obeyed him willingly. ” 

^We may, therefore, dismiss this assertion as utterly 


XXX 


HAROLD 


groundless, on its own merits, without directly citing 
against it the Saxon authorities. 

^Thirdly, that Edward left William the crown by 
will. 

^On this assertion alone, of the three, the Norman 
Conqueror himself seems to have rested a positive claim. ^ 
But if so, where was the will ? Why was it never produced 
or producible? If destroyed, where were the witnesses? 
why were they not cited? The testamentary dispositions 
of an Anglo-Saxon king were always respected, and went 
far towards the succession. But it was absolutely necessary 
to prove them before the Witan.^ An oral act of this kind, 
in the words of the dying sovereign, would be legal, but 
they must be confirmed by those who heard them. Why, 
when William was master of England, and acknowledged by 
a National Assembly convened in London, and when all 
who heard the dying King would have been naturally 
disposed to give every evidence in William’s favour, not 
only to flatter the new sovereign, but to soothe the national 
pride, and justify the Norman succession by a more popular 
plea than conquest — why were no witnesses summoned to 
prove the bequest? Aired, Stigand, and the Abbot of 
Westminster, must have been present at the death-bed of 
the King, and these priests concurred in submission to 
William. If they had any testimony as to Edward’s bequest 
in his favour, would they not have been too glad to give it, 
in justification of themselves, in compliment to William, in 

1 He is considered to refer to such bequest in one of his charters : — 
‘Devicto Haroldo rege cum suis complicibus qui michi regnum 
prudentia Domini destinatum, et beneficio concessionis Domini et 
cognati mei gloriosi regis Edwardi concessum conati sunt auferre.’ — 
Forestina, a. 3. 

But 'William’s word is certainly not to be taken, for he never 
scrupled to break it ; and even in these words he does not state that 
it was left him by Edward’s will, but destined and given to him— 
words founded, perhaps, solely on the promise referred to, before 
Edward came to the throne, corroborated by some messages in the 
earlier years of his reign, through the Norman Archbishop of 
Canterbury, who seems to have been a notable intriguer to that 
end. 

2 Palgrave, Commonwealth, p. 5G0, 


INTRODUCTION 


xxxi 


duty to the people, in vindication of law against force ? But 
no such attempt at proof was ventured upon. 

^Against these, the mere assertion of William, and the 
authority of Normans who could know nothing of the truth 
of the matter, while they had every interest to misrepresent 
the facts — we have the positive assurances of the best 
possible authorities. The Saxon Chronicle (worth all the 
other annalists put together) says expressly, that Edward 
left the crown to Harold : — 

‘ The sage, ne’ertheless, 

The realm committed 
To a highly-born man ; 

Harold’s self, 

The noble Earl. 

He in all time 
Obeyed faithfully 
His rightful lord. 

By words and deeds ; 

Nor aught neglected 
AVhich needful was 
To his sovereign long.’ 

^ Florence of Worcester, the next best authority (valuable 
from supplying omissions in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle), 
says expressly that the King chose Harold for his successor 
before his decease,^ that he was elected by the chief men of 
all England, and consecrated by Aired. Hoveden, Simeon 
(Dunelm.), the Beverley chronicler, confirm these authorities 
as to Edward’s choice of Harold as his successor. William 
of Malmesbury, who is not partial to Harold, writing in 
the reign of Henry the First, has doubts himself as to 
Edward’s bequest (though grounded on a very bad argument, 
viz. : the improbability that Edward would leave his crown 
to a man of whose power he had always been jealous ” ; 
there is no proof that Edward had been jealous of Harold’s 
power — he had been of Godwins ) ; but Malmesbury gives 
a more valuable authority than his own, in the concurrent 

1 ‘ Quo tumulato, subregulus Haroldus, Godwin! Ducis filius, quern 
rex ante suam decession em regni successorem elegerat, a totius 
Angliae primatibus ad regale culmen electus, die eodem ab’ Ald- 
redo Eboracensi Archiepiscopo in regem est honorifice consecratus.’ 
Flor. Wig. 


XXXll 


HAROLD 


opinion of his time, for he deposes that '‘‘the English say, 
the diadem was granted him (Harold) by the King.” 

^ These evidences are, to say the least, infinitely more 
worthy of historical credence than the one or two English 
chroniclers, of little comparative estimation (such as Wike), 
and the prejudiced and ignorant Norman chroniclers,^ who 
depose on behalf of William. I assume, therefore, that 
Edward left the crown to Harold ; of Harold’s better claim 
in the election of the Witan, there is no doubt. But Sir 
F. Palgrave starts the notion that, admitting that the 
prelates, earls, aldermen, and thanes of Wessex and East- 
Anglia had sanctioned the accession of Harold, their 
decision could not have been obligatory on the other 
kingdoms (provinces); and the very short time elapsing 
between the death of Edward and the recognition of Harold, 
utterly precludes the supposition that their consent was 
even asked.” This great writer must permit me, with all 
reverence, to suggest that he has, I think, forgotten the 
fact that, just prior to Edward’s death, an assembly, fully 
as numerous as ever met in any national Witan, had been 
convened to attend the consecration of the new abbey and 
church of W estminster, which Edward considered the great 
work of his life ; that assembly would certainly not have 
dispersed during a period so short and anxious as the mortal 
illness of the King, which appears to have prevented his 
attending the ceremony in person, and which ended in his 
death a very few days after the consecration. So that dur- 
ing the interval, which appears to have been at most about 
a week, between Edward’s death and Harold’s coronation,*^ 

^ Some of these Norman chroniclers tell an absurd story of Harold’s 
seizing the crown from the hand of the bishop, and putting it himself 
on his head. The Bayeux Tapestry, which is William’s most con- 
nected apology for his claim, shows no such violence ; but Harold 
is represented as crowned very peaceably. With more art (as I have 
observed elsewhere), the Tapestry represents Stigand as crowning 
him instead of Aired ; Stigand being at that time under the Pope’s 
interdict. [L.] 

2 Edward died Jan. 5th. Harold’s coronation is said to have taken 
place Jan. the 12th ; but there is no very satisfactory evidence as to 
the precise day ; indeed some writers would imply that he was crowned 
the day after Edward’s death, which is scarcely possible. [L.] 


INTRODUCTION 


xxxiii 


the unusually large concourse of prelates and nobles 
from all parts of the kingdom assembled in London and 
Westminster, would have furnished the numbers requisite 
to give weight and sanction to the Witan. And had it not 
been so, the Saxon chroniclers, and still more the Norman, 
would scarcely have omitted some remark in qualification 
of the election. But not a word is said as to any inadequate 
number in the Witan. And as for the two great princi- 
palities of Northumbria and Mercia, Harold’s recent 
marriage with the sister of their earls might naturally tend 
to secure their allegiance. 

^ Nor is it to be forgotten that a very numerous Witan 
had assembled at Oxford, a few months before, to adjudge 
the rival claims of Tostig and Morcar ; the decision of the 
ATitan proves the alliance between Harold’s party and that 
of the young earls — ratified by the marriage with Aldyth. 
And he who has practically engaged in the contests and 
cabals of party, will allow the probability, adopted as fact 
in the romance, that, considering Edward’s years and infirm 
liealth, and the urgent necessity of determining beforehand 
the claims to the succession — some actual, if secret, under- 
standing was then come to by the leading chiefs. It is a 
common error in history to regard as sudden, that which in 
the nature of alfairs never can be sudden. All that paved 
Harold’s way to the throne must have been silently settled 
long before the day in which the Witon elected him unanimi 
omnium consensu^ 

^ With the views to which my examination of the records 
of the time have led me in favour of Harold, I cannot but 
think that Sir F. Palgrave, in his admirable History of 
Anglo-Saxon England, does scanty justice to the last of 
its kings ; and that his peculiar political and constitutional 
theories, and his attachment to the principle of hereditary 
succession, which make him consider that Harold had no 
clear title to the crown any way,” tincture with something 
like the prejudice of party his estimate of Harold’s char- 
acter and pretensions. My profound admiration for Sir F. 
Palgrave’s learning and judgment would not permit me 
to make this remark without carefully considering and 
1 Vit. Harold. Chron. Ang. Norm. 


xxxiv 


HAROLD 


reweighing’ all the contending authorities on which he him- 
self relies. And I own that^ of all modern historians, Thierry 
seems to me to have given the most just idea of the great 
actors in the tragedy of the Norman invasion, though I 
incline to believe that he has overrated the oppressive 
influence of the Norman dynasty in which the tnigedy 
closed.’ 

The battle of Stamfordbridge, on September 25th, 1066, 
is the next point we reach. It was a great fight against one 
of the most renowned leaders of the day, Harold, King of 
Norway, and against Tostig, the brother of Harold of Eng- 
land, who, besides being a brave and able man, had shared 
with Harold the conquest of Wales, and learned from and 
understood the military genius of his brother. The blow 
was a cruel one for England — an attack in the north while 
the southern attack was just preparing for execution. Only 
one man in England could beat back the* enemy, and that 
man was Harold the King. The Earls Edwin and Morcar 
were defeated at Fulford, and Harold was compelled to 
march to their assistance with his Wessex army. Of the 
details of the battle many are recorded in the chronicles and 
are kept alive by tradition. It is said by one chronicler 
that Harold slew Tostig with his own hand, but there is not 
sufficient evidence of this. All the events described by 
Lytton are historical, including the well-known reply of 
Harold, that the invading king should only be allowed seven 
feet of English ground for a burial-place, even if the invad- 
ing Earl were pardoned. Tostig’s answer is historical, and 
it was on the whole a noble answer, unworthy as the cause 
was with which it was connected. 

The site of the battle is still to be recognised. The 
village of Stamford is divided by the Derwent into two 
unequal portions. On the west bank is a tract of level 
ground, and at some distance from the river arises a gentle 
slope, from the highest ridge of which can be seen some 
distance over a flat country. On the east bank, in and just 
behind the village, is a continuous crest of higher ground 
rising at once from the water’s edge, and over the crest of 
the edge is a dead level, where are some fields still called 
the ^Battle Flats.’ The river was crossed by a bridge about 


INTRODUCTION 


XXXV 


five hundred yards above the present structure ( Yorks Arch. 
Soc. xi. 134). The site of the battle is easily reached by 
train, being on the York, Market W^'eighton and Beverley 
Branch of the North-Eastern Railway. The ^ Battle Flats ’ 
are now divided into pastures, and are not far from the 
station. In 1720-30, pieces of old swords, spears, and small 
horse-shoes were often found about the Flats, and a field at 
the north end of the village yet bears the name of ^ Danes 
garth ’ {ibid. 138). Some years ago, when the water of the 
Derwent was very low, the foundation of the stone piers of 
the ancient and historic bridge were laid bare, and there is 
preserved in the manor-house in the village a Norwegian 
spear which had been dredged out of the river {ibid. 139). 
Lytton observes, in a note to p. 354 : ^ The quick succession 
of events allowed the Saxon army no time to bury the slain ; 
and the bones of the invaders whitened the field of battle 
for many years afterwards.’ 

One very interesting reminiscence of the battle has been 
preserved by tradition. An annual feast is still held in 
September, at which the inhabitants used to make tub- 
shaped pies ; and tradition affirms that they M ere to com- 
memorate the Englishman and the vessel used by him 
when he slew the Norwegian from under the bridge, and 
that it was not a boat, but a swine-tub that he made use of. 
The day M as called the Pear-pie feast ( Yorks Arch. Soc. ix. 
139). 

Tlien comes the last scene of all, on the 14th October 
1066. Of the battle of Hastings every Englishman may be 
proud. Lost to one section of our nation it Mas gained by 
another — both loss and gain being tributes to the skill, 
daring, and sturdy bravery of our race. Mr. Freeman con- 
fesses to have made it — or rather, that by the circumstances 
of the case it Mas — ^ the very subject’ of his history, and 
every one recognises that it is the centre-point of English 
history ; it undid Anglo-Saxon Britain, but it made the 
England of all the later years— the England of to-day. 

Mr. Freeman’s description is very fine, and every one who 
cares for English story should read it. It has all the qualities 
of romance guarded by all the necessities of sober history. 
It is impossible not to touch upon other descriptions of 


xxxvi 


HAROLD 


this wonderful battle in endeavouring to estimate Lytton’s 
description. Tennyson’s fine account of it, spoken by the 
heart-breaking onlookers, Edith and the monk of W altham, 
stirs the reader to the quick emotion of the moment ; and, 
when the cry bursts forth that Gurth, the noble Gurth, is 
down, one feels that the poet has said for all England the 
broken-voiced utterance that the end was near. By the 
side of this how tame is the spiritless narrative which 
another romancist of the period has given — Sir Charles 
J. Napier, in his story of William the Conqueror, and by 
contrast how supremely powerful is Lytton’s version of 
it, while Mr. Freeman testifies to its accuracy by saying 
that ‘ Lord Lytton, in his romance, shows a better under- 
standing of the site than anybody else’ {Hist. Norm. Conq. 
iii. p. 758). 

The detailed description of the site (p. 878), however, 
contains an error which has occasioned a great fight between 
Mr. Freeman’s followers and his critics. Lytton says that 
the king ^ began forthwith to entrench himself behind deep 
ditches and artful palisades.’ Mr. Freeman says, ^ he occu- 
pied the hill ; he surrounded it on all its accessible sides by 
a palisade, with a triple gate of entrance, and defended it 
to the south by an artificial ditch.’ The question is, what 
was this palisade.^ Lytton says, stakes and strong hurdles 
interwoven with osier plaits ’ ; Mr. Lower also agrees with- 
this, and he properly points out that the Saxons would not 
take long to erect such a palisade, because it was the ordi- 
nary mode of constructing houses — a style of building still 
used for the outhouses in Sussex, and known as ‘ raddle and 
dab’ {Sussex Arch. Coll. vi. 17); Mr. Round says it was a 
shield-wall of men closely packed together, and protected 
by their Norse shields. The whole discussion of the points 
will be found in Mr. Round’s Feudal England (pp. 340-3C8) ; 
and there seems nothing further to be said after the masterly 
way in which he has stated his proofs that the English at 
Hastings defended themselves by their traditional ^shield- 
wall ’ of armour and muscle. 

The description of the site is worth quoting from Free- 
man, especially as it can be visited so easily by any one 
caring to tread the ground hallowed by such noble English 


INTRODUCTION 


XXXVll 


blood. ‘ llie hill now occupied by the abbey and town of 
Battle commemorates in its later name the great event of 
which it is the scene. It is the last spur of the downs 
covered by the great Andredesweald, and it completely 
commands the broken ground alternating with hill and 
marsh which lies between itself and the sea. It stands, in 
fact, right in the teeth of an enemy marching northwards 
from Hastings. The hill itself is of a peninsular shape, 
stretching from the east to the south-west, and it is joined 
on by a narrow isthmus to the great mass of the high ground 
to the north. The height is low compared with the moun- 
tains and lofty hills of the western parts of our island, but 
its slopes greatly varying in their degrees of steepness, 
would, even where the ascent is most gentle, afford no 
slight obstacle to the enemy who trusted mainly to his 
cavalry. The spot was then quite unoccupied and untilled ; 
nothing in any of the narratives implies that there was any 
village or settlement ; our own chronicles describe the site 
only as by ^^the hoar apple-tree,” some relic, we may well 
believe, of the days when streams and trees were still under 
the guardianship of their protecting, perhaps indwelling 
deities. At present the eastern part of the hill is covered 
by the buildings of the abbey, and by part of the town which 
has gathered round it, including the parish church, llie 
"town also stretches to the north-west, away from the main 
battle-ground, along what I have spoken of as the isthmus. 
But the hill goes on a long way to the south-west of the 
isthmus, westward from the buildings of the abbey, and 
this part of the ground really played the most decisive part 
in the great event of the place. A sort of ravine watered 
by two small streams which join together at the base of the 
hill, cuts off the south-western end of the battle-ground 
from the isthmus and the ground connected with it. The 
steepness of the ground here is considerable. At the 
extreme south-east end, the present approach to the town 
from Hastings, the ascent is gentler. Turning the eastern 
end of the hill, which here takes a slightly forked shape, 
the ground on the north side, near the present parish church, 
is exceedingly steep, almost precipitous. Along the south 
front of the hill, that most directly in the teeth of invaders. 


XXXVlll 


HAROLD 


the degree of height and steepness varies a good deal. The 
highest and steepest is the central point occupied by the 
buildings of the abbey. Some way westward from the abbey 
is the point where the slope is gentlest of all^ where the 
access to the natural citadel is least difficult. But here a 
lowj detached, broken hill — a sort of small island in advance 
of the larger peninsula — stands out as an outpost in front 
of the main mass of high ground, and it played a most 
important part in the battle.’ Mr. Lower, the Sussex ' 
antiquary, after a careful study of the ground, identifies 
’Pelham hill, the crest between Battle and Hastings, as the 
Hetheland, wherefrom the Saxons first beheld the approach 
of the Normans — the approach having been made ^to the 
north of the village of Hollington through what is now 
Crowhurst Park’ (Sussea? Arch. Coll. vi. 18). The ravine 
is the site of the Malfosse, where the slaughter of the Nor- 
mans was so great, Mr. Lower stating that the eminence 
must have been the ridge rising from Mount Street to Cald- 
beck Hill, some part of the stream flowing at its foot running 
in the direction of W atlington. This rivulet still occasion- 
ally overflows its banks, and the primitive condition of the 
adjacent levels was, doubtless, that of a morass. Mr. Lower 
proves his point by noting that a piece of land called ' Win- 
cestrecroft in Manfosse [Malfosse]’ was ceded to Battle 
Abbey in 1279 (Thorpe’s Catalogue of Battle Abbey Charters ^ 
p. 50), and that this Wincestrecroft is still well known, and 
lies west by north of the present town of Battle {Sussex 
Arch. Coll. vi. 28). The portion of the town of Battle which 
lies eastward of the church is called ^ the Lake,’ from Sant- 
lache, the old name of the place. Even but a few years 
since the springs of chalybeate waters hereabout were \ 
believed to have received their redness from the blood of 
the slaughtered Saxons {ibid. p. 37). Drayton, in his Poly- 
olbion, records this belief as prevalent in his time : — 

‘ And Asten, once disstained with native English blood : 

(Whose soil when yet but wet with any little rain, 

Doth blush ; as put in mind of those there sadly slain.’) 

Mr. Lower identifies other relics of the great battle. One 
of the subdivisions of the hundred of Battle is called 


INTRODUCTION 


XXXIX 


^Mountjoy.’ On the line by which the Saxon must have 
retreated is a spot traditionally known as ^Called-back 
Hill,’ but really Caldbeck, the cold spring ; to the westward 
of the tow n, on the London road, is a large tree called the 
^ Watch Oak,’ and in the adjacent parish of Newfield is 
^ Standard Hill’ {ibid p. 29). lliese names are indicative of 
the traditions of the people concerning this spot, not 
indicative of the actual places or the actual events occurring 
there ; but they serve to show that the great battle lived 
long in the memories of Sussex folk. 

Looking at the fight at Hastings 'simply as a battle,’ 
says Mr. Freeman, 'it is one of the most memorable in all 
military history. . . . Even writers in the Norman interest 
allow that so great was the slaughter, so general at one 
time w’as the flight of the Norman host, that nothing but 
the visible interference of God on behalf of the righteous 
cause could have given William the victory’ {Hist. Norm. 
Conq. iii. pp. 504-5). Even after Harold’s death the English 
fought on, and when flying from the field of battle they 
found means to turn upon their conquerors and take revenge. 
But all the rhetoric which has ever been used about this 
battle fails, I think, to do it so much justice as a few 
lines of clear-sighted description which Mr. Round has, it 
would seem, almost unconsciously penned. In the midst of 
his general criticism of Mr. Freeman’s account w^e have the 
following passage : — 

' What the battle really was may be thus tersely ex- 
pressed — it was Waterloo without the Prussians. . . . 
Dazzled by the rapid movements of their foes, now advanc- 
ing, now retreating, either in feint or in earnest, the English, 
in places, broke their line, and then the Duke, as Mr. Oman 
writes, thrust his horsemen into the gaps. ... Is it not 
enough for us to picture the English line stubbornly 
striving to the last to close its broken ranks, the awful 
scene of slaughter and confusion, as the Old Guard of 
Harold, tortured by Norman arrows, found the horsemen 
among them at last, slashing and piercing right and left. 
Still the battle-axe blindly smote; doggedly, grimly, still 
they fought, till the axes dropped from their lifeless grasp. 
And so they fell’ (Round, Feudal England, p. 890). 


X 


HAROLD 


This battle of course closes the story except for the 
last scene of all^ of which English tradition is singularly 
tenacious. But before touching upon this, there is one 
detail of Lord Lytton’s narrative which must be noted. 
He places the death of Harold before that of Gurth^ whereas 
the best authorities seem to suggest that both Leofwine and 
Gurth fell somewhat early in the battle. This is the order 
given to the events in the Bayeux Tapestry^ though it is 
fair to acknowledge that chronology is not the strong point 
of that marvellous historical document. Tims Lord Lytton 
quotes from Wace the following : — 

‘ Guert (Gurth) vit Engleiz amenuisier. 

Vit k’il n’i out mil recovrier,’ etc. 

Gurth saw the English diminish, and that there was no 
hope to retrieve the day ; the Duke pushed forth with such 
force, that he reached him, and struck him with great 
violence {par grant air). I know not if he died by the 
stroke, but it is said that it laid him low.’ 

Whichever of the two was the last to die, brothers equally 
dear to each other, equally true, that last stand, alone, 
amidst the dead and dying, facing and fighting the foe, 
though there was no hope in the last despairing act of this 
tragedy, must have been terrible. 'We can imagine almost 
that death was preferred by the king as he saw Gurth 
lying at his feet ; at all events we know that no escape was 
attempted, and that the last king of the Saxons fought on 
to the end for his country against the foe. And there was 
no other so to lead and to fight, whether as king or leader 
of the army. 

The death of Harold is noted on the Bayeux Tapestry 
by the simple legend ^Hic Harold rex interfectus est.’ Of 
the precise spot there is no doubt. William vowed to 
build his monastery upon the site of the conflict, and 
the Chronicle of Battle Abbey, written upon the spot, 
records the fact that, ^ in accordance with the king’s decree, 
they wisely erected the high altar upon the precise spot 
where the ensign of Harold, which they called the standard, 
was observed to fall ’ (p. 11 of Mr. Lower’s edition). Tlie 
place is still pointed out amidst the ruins of the Abbey 


INTRODUCTION 


xli 


church. Sir Godfrey Webster, in 1817, caused excavations 
to be made in the northern part of the Abbey grounds, and 
there, in the very place indicated by tradition, discovered 
the undercroft or subterranean chapel beneath the east end 
of the church, in the easternmost recess of which are con- 
siderable remains of an altar which must be regarded as 
the exact spot above which, upon the floor of the choir, 
once stood the high altar itself. Harold and William are 
both gone. Pilgrims are still interested in the legend, ‘ Hie 
Harold rex interfectus est,’ and still stand on the spot so 
hallowed : noble families still trace their genealogy to those 
who fought at Hastings for the Norman Duke, but Harold’s 
great conqueror has, in course of time, been conquered 
himself by events which can be ti-ced to that part of the 
English nation of which Harold is the hero. 

Surely one of the saddest scenes in all English history is 
that which happened on the morning of the 15th October 
1066. All battle-fields are sad, for the blows which kill the 
warriors rebound with crushing force upon mothers and 
wives and children ; but all battle-fields are not visited by 
mothers, nor by such a mother as Githa, for the remains of 
such sons as Harold, Gurth, and Leofwine. All her kin 
save Wulfnoth, prisoner in her enemy’s power, were now 
gone to their last rest, and her search among that ghastly 
field of slaughter must have needed the mightiest of human 
efforts, the stoutest of human hearts. Not only her sons 
but her countrymen were there. They had died as heroes, it 
is true ; but the pity for all those frightful wounds, the 
horror at the unrecognisable corpses of the once handsome 
and brave, the memories of old days, and the blank despair 
of the future, must have filled up the cup of human woe to 
the full. And then, too, the story of Edith’s aid to find 
the corpse. Edith, not the wedded wife, not the forsaken 
love-maiden of the story, but the faithful, loving, unwedded 
love, as history knows her to be, comes right athwart the 
mother’s love and the mother’s fruitless search; and who can 
think of what these two women said to each other, thought 
of each other, how they acted towards each other, united 
as they at last were by their common love for a hero who 
deserved all the love that women could bestow ! 
d 


xlii . HAROLD 

Of the interment of Harold (p. 414) Lytton has the follow 
ing sufficient account : — 

^ Here we are met by evidences of the most contradictory 
character. According to most of the English writers, the 
body of Harold was given by William to Githa, without 
ransom, and buried at Waltham. There is even a story 
told of the generosity of the Conqueror, in cashiering a 
soldier who gashed the corpse of the dead hero. This last, 
however, seems to apply to some other Saxon, and not to 
Harold. But William of Poitiers, who was the Duke’s own 
chaplain, and whose narration of the battle appears to con- 
tain more internal evidence of accuracy than the rest of his 
Chronicle, expressly says, that William refused Githa’s offer 
of its weight in gold for the supposed corpse of Harold, and 
ordered it to be buried on the beach, with the taunt quoted 
in the text of this work — Let him guard the coast which 
he madly occupied ” ; and on the pretext that one, whose , 
cupidity and avarice had been the cause that so many men 
were slaughtered and lay unsepultured, was not worthy 
himself of a tomb. Orderic confirms this account, and says 
the body was given to William Mallet, for that purpose.^ 

^Certainly, William de Poitiers ought to have known 
best ; and the probability of his story is to a certain degree 
borne out by the uncertainty as to Harold’s positive inter- 
ment, which long prevailed, and which even gave rise to a 
story related by Giraldus Cambrensis (and to be found also 
in the Harleian »iss. ), that Harold survived the battle, became 
a monk in Chester, and before he died had a long and secret 
interview with Henry the First. Such a legend, however 
absurd, could scarcely have gained any credit if (as the usual 
story runs) Harold had been formally buried, in the presence 

1 This William Mallet was the father of Robert Mallet, founder 
of the Priory of Eye, in Suffolk (a branch of the house of Mallet de 
Graville). — Pluquet. He was also the ancestor of the great William 
Mallet (or Malet, as the old Scandinavian name was now corruptly 
spelt), one of the illustrious twenty-five ‘conservators’ of Magna 
Charta. The family is still extant ; and I have to apologise to Sir 
Alexander Malet, Bart. (Her Majesty’s Minister at Stutgard), Lieut. - 
Col. Charles St. Lo Malet, the Rev. William Windham Malet (Vicar 
of Ardley), and other members of that ancient House, for the liberty 
taken with the name of their gallant forefather. — [L.] 


INTRODUCTION 


xliii 


of many of the Norman barons, in Waltham Abbey — but 
would very easily creep into belief, if his body had been 
carelessly consigned to a Norman knight, to be buried 
privately by the sea-shore. 

^The story of Osgood and Ailred, the childemaister 
(schoolmaster in the monastery), as related by Palgrave, 
and used in this romance, is recorded in a ms. of Waltham 
Abbey, and was written somewhere about fifty or sixty years 
after the event — say at the beginning of the twelfth century. 
These two monks followed Harold to the field, placed them- 
selves so as to watch its results, offered ten marks for the 
body, obtained permission for the search, and could not 
recognise the mutilated corpse until Osgood sought and 
returned with Edith. In point of fact, according to this 
authority, it must have been two or three days after the 
battle before the discovery was made.’ 

The chronicle relating the story of Harold’s escape from 
Hastings was printed in 1885 from a ms. of the thirteenth 
century by Mr. Walter de Gray Birch. The title of the 
MS. is Vita HaroMi, but no historian save Palgrave gives even 
a colour of authority to it. 

Such are the events and such is the interpretation of them, 
which, on the whole, seem most in accord with the truth to 
be drawn from the conflicting records of the time. W e will 
now turn to a few illustrative details which have not up to 
this point found a place in the chronological arrangement of 
the preceding pages. 

The date is too early for there to be any authentic evidence 
of Harold’s personal appearance, but the general idea to be 
derived from the chronicles is that he was tall and handsome. 
Judging by his coins, Harold wore his hair after the Nor- 
man fashion, that is to say, he shaved all but his moustache. 
In this he is in direct contrast to Edward the Confessor, who 
always wore his beard, and the contrast is not easily under- 
stood, considering the English sympathies of Harold. One of 
Edward’s coins bears on the reverse the word joaa? between two 
lines, and this is the universal type of Harold’s coins (see p. 
338). ‘ Whether this was mere chance,’ say Messrs. Grueber 
and Keary, ^ because it was one of the latest, if not the last 
type of his predecessor, or whether it was adopted designedly, 


xliv 


HAROLD 


we need scarcely discuss. Harold knew^ when he accepted the 
crown of England, that he was beset by enemies on all sides, 
and his greatest desire, therefore, might well be for peace 
... or we may suppose that he meant by adherence to this 
type what Cnut meant when he first adopted it, that the 
ancient laws of the country, the laws of Eadgar, would be 
maintained in their integrity, and the peace between Eng- 
lishmen and Norsemen reign as heretofore’ {Catalogue of 
English Coins in the British Museum, vol. ii. p. xcvii.). It 
is interesting to note that the mints of Harold’s coins extend 
over the kingdom. They were at Bedford, Bristol, Canter- 
bury, Chichester, Colchester, Derby, Dover, York, Exeter, 
Ilchester, Guildford, Ipswich, Gloucester, Cambridge, South- 
ampton, Hastings, Hereford, Huntingdon, Lewes, Leicester, 
Chester, Lincoln, London, Norwich, Oxford, Rochester, 
Romney, Shaftesbury, Nottingham, Steyiiing, Stamford, 
Southwark, Warwick, Wallingford, Wareham, Wilton, 
Winchester, and Thetford. 

The language of the period was of course Anglo-Saxon in 
its later stages. This increases a literary difficulty which 
Lytton deals with very ably. By the use of a few well-chosen 
archaisms, not necessarily derived from our Saxon speech, the 
idea of a distant date for the events of the story is well sus- 
tained. The distinction between Anglo-Saxon and Norman is 
also well illustrated. On p. 12 the King is made to address 
William as ^ hien aime/ and Lord Lytton defends this in the 
following note ; ^ The few expressions borrowed occasionally 
from the Romance tongue to give individuality to the speaker 
will generally be translated into modern French ; for the same 
reason as Saxon is rendered into modern English — namely, 
that the words may be intelligible to the reader.’ As a 
specimen of the actual English of the period, the following 
opening lines of one of the very few charters of Harold will 
be acceptable : ‘ Harold King gret Ailnod Abbot and Touid 
and alle mine j)eines on Sumerseten frendliche’ (Kemble, 
Codex Diplomaticus, No. 976). 

With regard to the costume of the period, Fairholt, in his 
Costume in England, tells us that the Norman fashions which 
were introduced during the reign of Edward the Confessor 
were maintained during the reign of Harold, who himself. 


INTRODUCTION 


xlv 


according to this authority, did not return after his sojourn 
in Normandy unaffected by Norman influences. ^The 
monkish chroniclers declare that the English had trans- 
formed themselves in speech and garb, and adopted all that 
was ridiculous in the manners of these people for their own. 
They shortened their tunics, they trimmed their hair, they 
loaded their arms with golden bracelets, and entirely forgot 
their usual simplicity.’ The covering of the arm from the 
wrist to the elbow with ornamental bracelets seems to have 
been a mark of distinction to which they were greatly addicted. 
Fairholt draws attention to a representation of the tempta- 
tion of Christ in the Cottonian ms. Tiberius, C. 6, wherein 
the Evil One is displaying the ^ riches of the world ’ to the 
Saviour, in which bracelets of the sort form a conspicuous 
part of the ^ glory thereof.’ 

Harold’s success in Wales was largely due to the modi- 
fication which he made in the military habit of his followers, 
particularly adapted to mountain warfare. ^The heavy 
armour of the Saxons (for the weight of the tunic, covered 
with iron rings, was considerable), rendered them unable 
to pursue the W^elsh to their recesses. Harold observed 
this impediment, and commanded them to use armour made 
of leather only, and lighter weapons. This leather armour 
we find to have consisted in overlapping flaps, generally 
stained of different colours, and cut into the shape of scales 
or leaves. It is called corium by some of the writers in the 
succeeding century, and corietum in the Norman laws. It 
was most probably copied from the Normans ; for in the 
Bayeux Tapestry we perceive it worn by Guy, Count of 
Ponthieu, and Odo, Bishop of Bayeux. 

John Hewitt in his Chart of Ancient Armour, gives the 
following detailed description of the equipment of a Norman 
knight as he appears in the Bayeux Tapestry 

^ On the head a helmet with nasal, worn over the capuchon 
or cowl ; the body armour, a hauberk with its pectoral, formed 
of flat rings of metal sewed on a garment of stout cloth or 
skin. The legs are protected by bands ; and as these bands 
are commonly represented in the tapestry of a different 
colour from that of the material beneath, it is probable 
1 Planche, History of British Costume. 


xlvi 


HAROLD 


they were of leather wound round a garment of coloured 
cloth. A spur of a single goad appears upon the heel of 
the pointed shoe. The shield is kite-shaped^ with a fanciful 
device [on its front, heraldic bearings not being yet in use. 
A strap on the inside, called the guige, enabled the com- 
batant to suspend it round his neck, so as to leave both 
hands free for the attack. The lance at this period had 
a little streamer attached to it, called the gonfanon. Other 
knights in the tapestry are armed with swords. Besides the 
armour of rings above described, we find on the seals, 
illuminations, and tapestry of the period a defence, of which 
the compartments are in squares or lozenges. Whether this 
was of gamboised (or padded) work, or of little plates of 
steel arranged on a body of cloth or skin, is a question 
yet in doubt. The Normans had another kind of armour 
made of leather, which was cut into the form of leaves, and 
arranged so as to overlap like fish-scales. This was 
frequently painted of various colours.* 

In Harold’s questioning of the spy who had visited the 
Norman camp on the eve of the Battle of Hastings (p. 384) 
we find an allusion to an extraordinary custom which pre- 
vailed among the Normans : — 

^ . I saw more monks than warriors. ” 

^ How ! thou jestest ! ” said Gurth surprised. 

^^^No: for thousands by thousands, they were praying 
and kneeling; and their heads were all shaven with the 
tonsure of priests.” 

Priests are they not,” cried Harold, with his calm 
smile, ‘^‘^but doughty warriors and dauntless knights.’” 

The authority on whom Lytton based this incident is 
W ace, who thus relates it : 

^One of the English who had seen the Normans all 
shaven and shorn, thought they were all priests, and could 
chant masses ; for all were shaven and shorn, not having 
moustachios left. This he told to Harold, that the duk6 
had far more priests than knights or other troops.’ 

The curious fashion here alluded to was that of shav- 
ing the back of the head as well as the entire face, 
instances of which are to be found in the Bayeux Tapestry. 
Fairholt says that ‘ the central tufts of hair were eometimes 


INTRODUCTION 


xlvii 


covered by a close coif, or cap, which, passing over the 
centre of the head from the tip of each ear, left the back 
quite bare of covering, for the purpose of displaying the 
fashion more plainly.’ For the origin of the custom Fair- 
holt refers to the authority of Planche, who says it 
was adopted from the nobles of Aquitaine, who had 
been distinguished by this extraordinary practice for many 
years previous to the Conquest, and who had spread 
the fashion after the marriage of Constance, Princess of 
Poitou, with Robert, King of France, in 997, by following 
her to Paris, and there exhibiting themselves thus shorn ; 
their general manners being, according to contemporary 
authority, distinguished by conceited levity, that and 
their dress being equally fantastic. 

We have no pictorial authority, Planche says, ^for the 
dress and equipments of the Anglo-Saxons earlier than 
the latter half of the tenth century ’ ; and he describes the 
dress of the men of that period as consisting of ^ an under- 
garment of linen, over which in summer was worn a tunic 
(Ang.-Sax. roc) of linen, and in winter one of woollen, 
with ornamental borders, and having long close sleeves, 
which sat in wrinkles, or rather rolls, on the fore-arm 
from the elbow to the wrist. In some instances the rolls 
were so regular as to present the appearance of a succession 
of bracelets, and, when painted yellow, might probably be 
intended to do so, as William of Malmesbury tells us the 
English at the time of the Conquest were in the habit 
of loading their arms with them ; but it is also evident 
that generally the marks were merely indicative of a long 
sleeve, wrinkled up and confined by a single bracelet at 
the wrist, by removing which perhaps the sleeve was pulled 
out of its folds and drawn over the hand as a substitute for 
gloves. The roc or tunic was either plain or ornamented 
round the collar and borders, according to the rank of the 
* wearer. . . . Over this again the warriors and upper classes 
wore, when abroad or on state occasions, a short cloak 
(mantil) like the Roman pallium or Gaulish sagum, fastened 
sometimes on the breast, sometimes on one or both shoulders 
with brooches or fihulce.* ^ Lord Lytton notes that William 
of Malmesbury says, that the English, at the time of the 
1 Planch^, Gyclopcedia of Costume, vol. ii. p. 33. 


xlviii 


HAROLD 


Conquest, loaded their arms with gold bracelets, and adorned 
their skins with punctured designs, i.e. a sort of tattooing. 
He says that they then w’ore short garments, reaching to 
the mid-knee ; but that was a Norman fashion, and the 
loose robes assigned in the text to Algar were the old 
Saxon fashion, which made but little distinction between 
the dress of women and that of men. 

The same authority ^ tells us that the Anglo-Saxon women 
of all ranks ^-wore loose garments reaching to the ground, 
distinguished in various documents by the names of the 
tunic, the gunna or gown, the cy7ile or kirtle, and the 
mantle. The first and last articles describe themselves ; 
but the terms ‘^^gown” and kirtle” have caused much 
disputation from the capricious application of them to 
different parts of the dress. The British gown. Latinised 
gaunacum by Varro, we have already seen was a short 
tunic with sleeves reaching only to the elbows, and w'orn 
over the long tunic. And that the Saxon gunna was some- 
times short, we have the authority of a bishop of Winchester, 
who sends as a present ^^a short gunna sewed in our manner.” 
Now there is also authority sufficient to prove that a similar 
description of vestment was called a kirtle. No short tunics 
are, however, visible in Saxon illuminations, and we must 
therefore presume the gunna or gown generally means the 
long full robe, with loose sleeves, w'orn over the tunic ; and 
the kirtle, an inner garment, at this period, as we find it 
mentioned in the will of Wynfloeda among other linen 
webb ” and in one place described as white. The sleeves of 
the tunic, reaching in close rolls to the wrist, like those 
of the men, are generally confined there by a bracelet, or 
terminate with a rich border, and the mantle hangs down 
before and behind, covering the whole figure, except when 
looped up by the lifted arms, when it forms a point or 
festoon in front, like the ancient chasuble of the priesthood. 
The head-dress of all classes is a veil, or long piece of linen or 
silk wrapped round the head and neck. This part of their 
attire is exceedingly unbecoming in the illuminations, in a 
great measure probably from want of skill in the artist ; for 
no doubt it was capable of as graceful an arrangement as 
the Spanish mantilla. The Saxon name for it appears to 
1 Planch^, History of British Costume, p. 38 ct scq. 


INTRODUCTION 


xlix 


have been hedfodes rcegel (head-rail), or wcejiesy derived from 
the verb wcpfan, to cover ; but this head-gear was seldom 
worn except when abroad, as the hair itself w'as cherished 
and ornamented with as much attention as in modern times.’ 

Golden head-bands, half circles of gold, neck-bands, and 
bracelets, are continually mentioned in Anglo-Saxon wills 
and inventories. The head-band was sometimes worn over 
the veil or head-cloth. Amongst other female ornaments, we 
read of earrings, golden vermiculated necklaces, or neck cross, 
and a golden fly, beautifuly ornamented with precious stones. 

Gloves do not seem to have been worn by either sex 
before the eleventh century, the loose sleeves of the gown, 
or the folds of the mantle, supplying their place by being 
brought over the hand. 

The principal materials of which their dresses were made 
were cloth, silk and linen ; and red, blue and green seem 
to have been the prevailing colours of both sexes, while very 
little white is observed in the illuminations in female apparel. 

It is interesting to note, in view of Edith’s retirement into 
a convent, that this step did not necessarily involve any 
change in dress which might be calculated to diminish 
the effect of her personal appearance, as Bishop Adhelm 
intimates that the dress of royal Anglo-Saxon nuns in his 
time was frequently gorgeous.^ 

Throughout the book are various allusions to persons, 
places and things which need some explanation for the 
young historical student, and they will help to explain the 
period and the events even to the more advanced student. 
The most advantageous method of giving the necessary 
information under this head is in the form of a glossary. 
In this all the notes by Lord Lytton which are of present 
importance are incorporated, and these are marked by the 
letter [L.] in order to identify the original work from the 
additions. 

It remains to say a word or two about the author, and of 
the literary history of the book. 

Edward George Earle Lytton Bulwer was born on the 
25th May 1803, at 31 Baker Street, Portman Square. 
He was the youngest of the three sons of Colonel, after- 
wards General, William Earle Bulwer of Heydon Hall and 
1 Planch^, History of British Costv/nie. 


1 


HAROLD 


Wood Dalliiig in Norfolk, and his wife, Elizabeth Barbara, 
the only daughter and heiress of Richard Warburton Lytton, 
the last descendant of the Lyttons of Knebworth, in Hert- 
fordshire. 

On the 29th August 1827 Bulwer married Miss Rosina 
Doyle Wheeler, an Irish young lady, and niece of General 
Sir John Doyle. The marriage was contracted in opposi- 
tion to the wishes of his mother, and caused a temporary 
estrangement. It was a very unhappy affair, and a legal 
separation took place in 1836. 

Besides a boyish attempt, Bulwer 's first work was Falkland, 
published in 1827, and after that date he wrote continually ; 
stories, essays, reviews, and plays flowing from his pen 
almost incessantly. In 1831 he entered Parliament, and in 
1858-59 was appointed Secretary for the Colonies in Lord 
Derby’s ministry. In 1866 he was elevated to the peerage 
as Baron Lytton of Knebworth, having succeeded to the 
Knebworth property and assumed the surname of Lytton on 
the death of his mother in 1843. He died at Torquay on 
18th January 1873. 

Harold, the last of his historical novels, was written in 
1848, and completed in something less than a month. ^ It 
is no exaggeration to say that myjfather was engaged upon it 
nearly day and night for more than three weeks,’ the late 
Lord Lytton observes in The Life and Literary Remains of 
his father. It would seem almost incredible that a work so 
remarkable for its qualities of research, and for its sustained 
fidelity to fact, should have been completed within so short 
a time, did we not know that the scheme of it had lain and 
developed in its author’s mind for years. 

It has always been popular, and has been published separ- 
ately in various editions, besides being included in all the 
editions of the collected novels. The present edition is a 
reprint, the text of which is untouched. The footnotes have 
been removed from the pages on wliich they were originally 
printed by the author, and have, together with the appendix 
notes, been incorporated with the introduction or with the 
glossary, every such entry being identified with the letter 
[L.] to distinguish it from the notes added for the purposes 
of this edition. 


GLOSSARY AND NOTES 


[-4 feio oMitions are made to Lord Lytton’s original notes; and in 
order to distinguish the latter, the letter [L.] is placed at the end of the 
note. Only the essentially historical tvords are thus noted.^ 

-®GIB (p. 141). 

.(Egir, the Scandinavian god of the ocean. Not one of the Aser, or 
Asas (the celestial race), but sprung from the giants. — [L.] ^gir’s 
hall was far out in the depths of the sea. The ocean known by the 
Teutons was the North Sea. — Rydberg’s Teutonic Mythology, 474. 

Alezan (p. 47). 

A chestnut horse ; from the French through the Spanish Alazan. 

Algar (p. 150). 

The Saxon Chronicle contradicts itself as to Algar’s outlawry, 
stating in one passage that he was outlawed without any kind of guilt, 
and in another that he was outlawed as sxoike, or traitor, and that he 
made a confession of it before all the men there gathered. His 
treason, however, seems naturally occasioned by his close connection 
with Gryffy th, and proved by his share in that king’s rebellion. Some 
of our historians have unfairly assumed that his outlawry was at 
Harold’s instigation. Of this there is not only no proof, but one of 
the best authorities among the chroniclers says just the contrary, — 
that Harold did all he could to intercede for him ; and it is certain 
that he was fairly tried and condemned by the Witan, and afterwards 
restored by the concurrent articles of agreement between Harold and 
Leofric. Harold’s policy with his own countrymen stands out very 
markedly prominent in the annals of the time ; it was invariably that 
of conciliation. — [L.] 


Alreb (p. 55). 

The York Chronicle, written by an Englishman, Stubbs, gives this 
eminent person an excellent character as peacemaker. ‘He could 
make the warmest friends of foes the most hostile. ’ ‘ De inimicissimis, 
amicissimos faceret.’ This gentle priest had yet the courage to curse 
the Norman Conqueror in the midst of his barons. That scene is not 
within the range of this work, but it is very strikingly told in the 
Chronicle. — [L.] 

Asas (p. 141). 

.^sir, the gods. 

li 


lii 


HAROLD 


Asa-Lok (p. 231). 

Asa-Lok or Loke— (distinct from Utgard-Lok the demon of the In- 
fernal Regions) — descended from the Giants, but received among the 
celestial Deities ; a treacherous and malignant Power fond of assuming 
disguises and plotting evil — corresponding in his attributes with our 
‘Lucifer.’ One of his progeny was Hela, the Queen of Hell. — [L.] 


Asgard (p. 142). 


Asgard, lit. god’s ward, or the abode of the gods. 
Antiquities, 


Atheling (p. 297). 


Mallet, Northern 


Some writers have maintained the Atheling’s right as if incontest- 
able. ‘An opinion prevailed,’ says Palgrave, Eng. Commonwealth, 
pp. 559, 560, ‘ that if the Atheling was born before his father and 
mother were ordained to the royal dignity, the crown did not descend 
to the child of uncrowned ancestors.’ Our great legal historian quotes 
Eadmer, De Vit. Sanct. Dunstan, p. 220, for the objection made to 
the succession of Edward the Blartyr, on this score. — [L.] Freeman, 
in Hist. Norm. Conq. iii. 609-612, discusses the growth of the idea 
that Eadgar Atheling was the rightful heir to the exclusion of all 
others. 

Baldrick (p. 245). 

A plain or ornamental band, belt, or girdle, worn pendent on the 
shoulder diagonally across the body, to the waist, and employed to 
suspend a sword, dagger, or horn, much used by warriors in ancient 
and feudal times. It frequently encircled the waist, and, as an orna- 
mental appendage, served to denote the rank of the wearer. — Fairholt, 
Diet, of Terms in Art, p. 64. 


Banderol — Banderolle (p. 245). 

The little flag or streamer placed near the head of a lance. 

‘ Drives with strong lance some adverse knight to ground, 

And leaves his weltering batidroll in the wound.’ 

Way and Ellis’s Fabliaux, vol. iii. p. 7, quoted in Fairholt, Costume. 

Barb. 

The backward point of an arrow head. Fairholt, Diet. 


Bard (p. 243). 

The Council of Cloveshoe forbade the clergy to harbour poets, 
harpers, musicians, and buffoons. — [L.] 

Basileus (p. 69). 

The title of Basileus was retained by our kings so late as the time 
of John, who styled himself ‘ Totius Insulae Britannicae Basileus. — 
Agard : On the Antiquity of Shires in England, ap. Hearne, Cur. 
Disc. — [L.J 

The title was used by many of the Saxon kings.— See Birch’s Names 
and Titles of the Sovereigns of England (Index Society). 


1 



HAROLD AND EDWARD THE CONFESSOR AFTER THE RETURN FROM NORMANDY 


[Facsimile of the Bayeux Tapestry] 







* V. 


\ 


n,. 








■H'^;iiCr'‘^“''^’'' ■'‘' v-'r-yg'. 

-•■? -'‘--a 

A ^ y ^ H • r 




L ,.■', ;v'.-->^; >1^ 




-r_. 


t ** • V ■ 4 <*# . ^ jj * 

♦ i' T^*. ' /%* . - -**.•• ^ ' 

t * ' \ • 


r ‘' ^ • W t‘» > > 


^ M 


* I • % 



^ .-.• < ''St- 






k « 


*f.* pp 


•',' * r' 

« 

«. ♦ 

• 

# 


♦ 

-T# 

' f L 

•S»w -^Ta, 

*t '».' -'• 

X. ^ - 

4 

«» 

-v/ 


■■»v- 'V**' 



» i I 




flC.A.»9<»lw .4 m- 




GLOSSARY AND NOTES 


liii 


Bayeux (p. 252). 

In the environs of Bayeux still may perhaps linger the sole remains 
of the Scandinavian Normans, apart from the gentry. For centuries 
the inhabitants of Bayeux and its vicinity were a class distinct from 
the Franco-Normans, or the rest of Neustria ; they submitted with 
great reluctance to the ducal authority, and retained their old heathen 
cry of Thor-aide, instead of Dieu-aide ! — [L.] 


Bayeux Tapestby (p. 268). 

A celebrated antiquary (Mr. Douce), in his treatise in the Archceo- 
logia (vol. xvii.), on the authenticity of the Bayeux Tapestry, very 
justly invites attention to the rude attempt of the artist to preserve 
individuality in his portraits ; and especially to the singularly erect 
bearing of the Duke, by which he is at once recognised wherever he 
is introduced. Less pains are taken with the portrait of Harold; 
but even in that a certain elegance of proportion, and length of 
limb, as well as’ height of stature, are generally preserved. — [L.] 
Mr. Freeman has summarised what there is to say about the 
authority of the Tapestry for historical purposes in Hist. Norm. 
Conq. iii. 563-575, besides which there are Dr. Collingwood Bruce’s 
Bayeux Tapestry Elucidated, 1856, and M. Jules Comte’s La Tapis- 
serie de Bayeux, Paris 1878. 


Bedden Ale [Bidden Ale] (p. 2l). 

When any man was set up in his estate by the contributions of his 
friends, those friends were bid to a feast, and the ale so drank was 
called the bidden ale, from hidden, to pray or bid. — Brand, Popular 
Antiq. — [L.] 


Bel, or Bal-Huan (p. 197). 

Mons. Johanneau considers that Bel, or Belinus, is derived from 
the Greek, a surname of Apollo, and means the archer ; from helos, 
a dart or arrow. 

I own I think this among the spurious conceits of the learned, sug- 
gested by vague affinities of name. But it is quite as likely (if 
there be anything in the conjecture) that the Celt taught the Greek 
as that the Greek taught the Celt. 

There are some very interesting questions, however, for scholars to 
discuss : viz., 1st, When did the Celts first introduce idols? 2nd, Can 
we believe the classical authorities that assure us that the Druids 
originally admitted no idol worship ? If so, we find the chief idols of 
the Druids cited by Lucan ; and they therefore acquired them long 
before Lucan’s time. From whom would they acquire them ? Not 
from the Romans ; for the Roman gods are not the least similar to 
the Celtic, when the last are fairly examined. Not from the Teutons, 
from whose deities those of the Celt equally differ. Have we not 
given too much faith to the classic writers, who assert the original 
simplicity of the Druid worship ? And will not their popular idols be 
found to be as ancient as the remotest traces of the Celtic existence ? 
Would not the Cimmerii have transported them from the period of 
their ffist traditional immigration from the East? and is not their 
Bel identical with the Babylonian deity?— [L.] A great deal of non- 


liv 


HAROLD 


sense has been written on this subject both before and since Lytton’s 
time, and there is still need of a sane treatise on the subject. Forbes- 
Leslie’s Early Races of Scotland should be consulted for details of 
the worship. 

Belin’s Gate (p. 23). 

Verstegan combats the Welsh antiquaries who would apjjropriate 
this gate to the British deity Bal or Beli ; and says, if so, it would 
not have been called by a name half Saxon, half British, gate (geat) 
being Saxon ; but rather Belinsport than Belinsgate. This is no very 
strong argument ; for, in the Norman time, many compound words 
were half Norman, half Saxon. But, in truth, Belin was a Teuton 
deity, whose worship pervaded all Gaul; and the Saxons might 
either have continued, therefore, the name they found, or given it 
themselves from their own god. I am not inclined, however, to con- 
tend that any deity, Saxon or British, gave the name, or that Billing 
is not, after all, the right orthography. Billing, like all words ending 
in ing, has something very Danish in its sound; and the name is 
quite as likely to have been given by the Danes as by the Saxons. 
-[L.] 

Belrem (Castle of) (p. 238). 

The present Beaurain, near Montreuil.— [L.] 

Bocland (p. 170). 

Book-land, land held by a charter or writing, free from all fief, fee, 
service, or fines (such as was formerly held chiefly by the nobility, 
and denominated allodialis, and which we now call freehold.) — [Bos- 
worth.] 

Bodes (p. 54). 

Messengers.— [L.] 

Brazier (p. 40). 

An open pan for burning wood, coal, or charcoal. (Fr. brasier, 
braisier, from braise, embers, live coals ; same origin as braze, brass . ) 

Canute (p. 62). 

Recent Danish historians have in vain endeavoured to detract from 
the reputation of Canute as an English monarch. The Danes are, 
doubtless, the best authorities for his character in Denmark. But 
our own English authorities are sufficiently decisive as to the personal 
popularity of Canute in this country, and the affection entertained 
for his laws. — [L.] 

Canute made his inferior strength and stature his excuse for not 
meeting Edmund Ironsides in single combat. — [L.] 

Carcucate (p. 70). 

The quantity of land that could be ploughed by one plough or 
team, varying in extent originally, but determined in 1194 to be 100 
acres. — Stubbs’s Select Charters. See ‘ Hyde.’ 



BURIAL OF 


EDWARD THE CONFESSOR AT THE CHURCH OF ST. PETER, WESTMINSTER 

{Facsimile of the Bayeux Tapestry^ 





J. i';. 

^ r ^ i» a ■ ' . ! -*^ 


"fi'H v- 'iCT .1 '. ' ^ 

■ ^2. 

^ «> ^ • '\' ^mRH * 

M— > ‘ “ 

•. -y .!»?i^- .,- 


j* - V ^1*1| . ■ t ^ HHWH-; ;■ . •> ,T 

''}lu * ■ ' * ' BM ^ »•■>' 


'to' 


•o ‘ -• 

-;v; 

'.■ ■ V. 

* ^ ♦f*,i •*■*5? • *ViF\* it *r i,- ^ i' 


c 
, o 


KX k 






tta 


Iv 


GLOSSARY AND NOTES 

Casque (p. 236), 

(Fr.) A helmet. Helmets were originally made of leather. 
Those formed of metal were termed in Latin cassides, hence casque. 
— [Fairholt.] 

Caeb Gyefin (p. 181). 

The present town and castle of Conway. — [L.] 

Castle (p. 241). 

As soon as the rude fort of the middle ages admitted something of 
magnificence and display, the state rooms were placed in the third 
story of the inner court, as being the most secure. — [L.] 

Ceorl (p. 2). 

A countryman, churl, husbandman. — [Bosworth.] 

Cheapmen [Chapmen]. 

Market men, travelling sellers of wares and goods ; from cheap, a 
market. 


Childe (p. 86). 

Sir F. Palgrave says that the title of childe is equivalent to that of 
Atheling. With that remarkable appreciation of evidence which 
generally makes him so invaluable as a judicial authority where 
accounts are contradictory. Sir F. Palgrave discards with silent con- 
tempt the absurd romance of Godwin’s station of herdsman, to 
which, upon such very fallacious and flimsy authorities, Thierry and 
Sharon Turner have been betrayed into lending their distinguished 
names. — [L.] A youth, especially one of high birth, before he was 
advanced to the honour of knighthood, hence the heir-apparent of 
a sovereign or other dignitary, i.e. one who had the prospect of 
advancement. — [Jamieson, Scottish Diet.} 

Clergy (p. 113). 

The clergy (says Malmesbmy), contented with a very slight share 
of learning, could scarcely stammer out the words of the sacraments ; 
and a person who understood grammar was an object of wonder and 
astonishment. Other authorities likely to be impartial, speak quite 
as strongly as to the prevalent ignorance of the time. — [L.] 

Cnehts (p. 148). 

Cneoht — cniht, a boy, youth, attendant, servant. Hence the 
modern knights of a shire are so called because they serve the shire ; 
puer, servws.— [Bosworth.] 

Complin (p. 28). 

The second vespers.— [L.] Even-song, the last service of the day. 
— [Halliwell.] 


Ivi 


HAROLD 

Coronation (p. 321). 

It seems by the coronation service of Ethelred ii. still extant, that 
two bishops officiated in the crowning of the King ; and hence, per- 
haps, the discrepancy in the chroniclers, some contending that Harold 
was crowned by Aired, others, by Stigand. It is noticeable, how- 
ever, that it is the apologists of the Normans who assign that office 
to Stigand, who was in disgrace with the Pope, and deemed no law- 
ful bishop. Thus in the Bayeux Tapestry, the label, ‘Stigand,’ is 
significantly affixed to the officiating prelate, as if to convey insinua- 
tion that Harold was not lawfully crowned. Florence, by far the 
best authority, says distinctly that Harold was crowned by Aired. 
The ceremonial of the coronation described in the text is for the 
most part given on the authority of the Cotton MS. quoted by 
Sharon Turner, vol. iii. p. 151.— [L.] 

Cook (p. 243). 

A manor (but not, alas ! in Normandy) was held by one of his 
cooks, on the tenure of supplying William with a dish of dillegrout. 
— [L.] 

Corslet (p. 187). 

Corselet (Fr. ), a light breastplate, chiefly used by infantry, par- 
ticularly pikemen, in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. — 
[Fairholt, Diet.'] 

CORSNED (p. 137). 

Anciently a piece of bread consecrated by exorcism and to be 
swallowed by a suspected person as a trial of his innocence : if the 
person were guilty, the bread would produce convulsions and find 
no passage ; if he were innocent, it would cause no harm. (Anglo- 
Saxon corsnaed — cor, from root of choose and Anglo-Saxon snaed, a 
mouthful, a bit.) 

Crenelated Castles (p. 116). 

- Castles embattled, that is, cuttings made in the walls for the pur- 
pose of allowing the archers to shoot from. 

Cromlech (p. 3). 

-A structure consisting of two or more large unhewn stones fixed 
upright in the ground supporting a large flat stone in a horizontal 
position. It was the burial-place of chieftains, and was generally 
covered with a mound of earth. (W. Cromlech— crom, bent, con- 
cave, and llech, a flat stone.) 

Cross-bow (p. 391). 

The cross-bow is not to be seen in the Bayeux Tapestry— the 
Norman bows are not long. — [L.] 


Tavern.— [L.] 


CUMEN-HUS (p. 147). 



OFFERING THE CROWN TO HAROLD 


[Facsimile of the Baycu.x Ta/>estry\ 




GLOSSARY AND NOTES 


Ivii 


Cymry (p. 70). 

One section of the inhabitants of Wales. — See Rhys, Celtic Britain. 
Dais (p. 30). 

The high table at the upper end of an ancient dining-hall at which 
the chief persons sat ; the raised floor on which the table stood ; the 
chief seat at the high table, often with a canopy. 

Danes (p. 13). 

In 991, about a century after the first settlement, the Danes 
of East Anglia gave the only efficient resistance to the host of the 
Vikings under Justin and Gurthmund ; and Brithnoth, celebrated by 
the Saxon poet, as a Saxon, par excellence the heroic defender of his 
native soil, was, in all probability, of Danish descent. Mr. Laing, in 
his preface to his translation of the Heimskringla, truly observes, 
‘That the rebellions against William the Conqueror and his suc- 
cessors appear to have been almost always raised, or mainly sup- 
ported, in the counties of recent Danish descent, not in those peopled 
by the old Anglo-Saxon race.’ The portion of Mercia, consisting of 
the burghs of Lancaster, Lincoln, Nottingham, Stamford, and Derby, 
became a Danish State in a.d. 877 ; — East Anglia, consisting of 
Cambridge, Suffolk, Norfolk, and the Isle of Ely, in a.d. 879-80 ; — 
and the vast territory of Northumbria, extending all north the 
Humber, into all that part of Scotland south of the Frith, in a.d. 
867. — See Palgrave’s Commonwealth. But besides their more allotted 
settlements, the Danes were interspersed as landowners all over 
England, viz., Essex, Middlesex, Suffolk, Norfolk, Herts, Cambridge- 
shire, Hants, Lincoln, Notts, Derby, Northampton, Leicestershire, 
Bucks, Beds, and the vast territory called Northumbria. — Bromton 
Chron. In England, to this day, the descendants of the Anglo- 
Danes, in Cumberland and Yorkshire, are still a taller and bonier 
race than those of the Anglo-Saxons, as in Surrey and Sussex. — [L.] 
Mr. AVorsaae’s Account of Danes and Norwegians in England, Scot- 
land, and Ireland, 1852, should be consulted on the influence of the 
Danes in English history. 

Danish Poetry (p. 7). 

The historians of our literature have not done justice to the great 
influence which the poetry of the Danes has had upon our early 
national muse. I have little doubt but that to that source may be 
traced the minstrelsy of our borders and the Scottish Lowlands ; while, 
even in the central counties, the example and exertions of Canute 
must have had considerable effect on the taste and spirit of our 
Scops. That great prince afforded the amplest encouragement to 
Scandinavian poetry, and Olaus names eight Danish poets who 
flourished at his court.— [L.] 

Destrier (p. 178). 

Destrere, a war-horse. — [Halliwell, Dict.^ 

Disc Thegn (p. 69). 

A dish-servant, one that serves at table, a waiter.— [Bosworth. J 


e 


Iviii 


HAROLD 


Dlstait Side (p. 185). 

The mother’s side of the family, The mother always used the 
distaff, or staff to which a bunch of flax or tow was tied, and from 
which the thread was drawn to be spun by the spindle. 

Dkagon (p. 204). 

The Saxons of Wessex seem to have adopted the dragon for their 
ensign from an early period. It was probably for this reason that it 
was assumed by Edmund Ironsides as the hero of the Saxons ; the 
principality of Wessex forming the most important portion of the 
pure Saxon race, while its founder was the ancestor of the imperial 
house of the Basileus of Britain. The dragon seems also to have 
been a Norman ensign. The lions or leopards, popularly assigned to 
the Conqueror, are certainly a later invention. There is no appear- 
ance of them on the banners and shields of the Norman army in the 
Bayeux Tapestry. Armorial bearings were in use amongst the AVelch, 
and even the Saxons, long before heraldry was reduced to a science 
by the Franks and Normans. And the dragon, which is supposed by 
many critics to be borrowed from the east, through the Saracens, 
certainly existed as an armorial ensign with the Cymrians before 
they could have had any obligation to the songs and legends of that 
people. — [L.] 

Drink Hael (p. 358). 

Drinkhail — Literally, drink health (A.-S.). It was the pledge- 
word corresponding to wassat7c.— [HalliwelL] The Saxons sat at 
meals with their heads covered. — [L.] 

Druid, Isle of the (p. 199). 

Mona, or Anglesea.— [L.] 

Dunwich (p. 122). 

Now swallowed up by the sea.— [L.] The occurrence seems to 
have taken place between the time of Edward the Confessor and the 
Domesday survey. See Ellis, Introd. to Domesday, i. 308. 

Ealdermen [Ealdorman] (p. 2). 

An elderman, an ealdorman, though inferior to an etheling, was 
the superior of the thegn, and the highest officer in the kingdom ; he 
was the chief of a shire, and attended the witenagemot. — [Bos worth.] 

Edward the Confessor (p. 55). 

On rare occasions Edward was not without touches of a brave 
kingly nature. Snorro Sturleson gives us a noble and spirited reply 
of the Confessor to Magnus, who as heir of Canute, claimed the 
English crown; it concludes thus:— ‘Now, he (Hardicanute) died, 
and then it was the resolution of all the people of the country to 
take me, for the king here in England. So long as I had no kingly 
title I served my superiors in all respects, like those who had no 
claims by birth to land or kingdom. Now, however, I have received 
the kingly title, and am consecrated king; I have established my 
royal dignity and authority, as my father before me ; and while I 



CORONATION OF HAROLD 


[Facsimile of the Bayeux Tapestry\ 






GLOSSARY AND NOTES 


lix 


live I will not renounce my title. If King Magnus comes here with 
an army, I will gather no army against him ; but he shall only get 
the opportunity of taking England when he has taken my life. Tell 
him these words of mine.’ If we may consider this reply to be 
authentic, it is significant, as proof that Edward rests his title on 
the resolution of the people to take him for king ; and counts as 
nothing, in comparison, his hereditary claims. This, together with 
the general tone of the reply, particularly the passage in which he 
implies that he trusts his defence not to his army but his people — 
makes it probable that Godwin dictated the answer; and, indeed, 
Edward himself could not have couched it, either in Saxon or Danish. 
But the King is equally entitled to the credit of it, whether he com- 
posed it, or whether he merely approved and sanctioned its gallant 
tone and its princely sentiment. — [L.] 

Falchion. 

A broadsword with a slightly curved point, in extensive use 
during the middle ages, from its convenient form, it being shorter 
than the ordinary military sword, and less heavy. — [Fairholt.] 

Family (p. 130). 

The chronicler laments that the household ties, formerly so strong 
with the Anglo-Saxon, had been much weakened in the age prior to 
the Conquest. — [L.] 

Faul (p. 228). 

Faul was an evil spirit much dreaded by the Saxons. Zabulus and 
Diabolus (the Devil) seem to have been the same. — [L.] 

Fiefs (p. 211). 

An estate held of a superior on condition of military or other 
service; an estate held on feudal tenure. (Fr. fief, from O.H.G. 
fihu, property, lit. cattle.) 

Flails. 

A rustic instrument for beating out grain. A military weapon 
was constructed on the same principle in the sixteenth century— 
the pole and flail being made of wood, strengthened with a sheathing 
of iron ; the flail having rows of spikes surrounding it, which inflicted 
dreadful blows on armed men, and broke armour.— [Fairholt, Dict.^ 

Folkmuth (p. 106). 

The meeting of the people, that is, the assembly of the township, 
himdred, or shire, when the people attended personally and not by 
representatives. The folkmoot of London was held in the open 
air on a piece of land near St. Paul’s, qui dicitur folkmoot.— ^ee 
Gomme’s Primitive Folkmoots. 

Fobest Laws (p. 19). 

Under the Saxon kings, a man might, it is true, hunt in his own 
grounds, but that was a privilege that could benefit few but thegns ; 


and over cultivated ground or shire-laud there was not the same 
sport to be found as in the vast wastes called forest-land, and which 
mainly belonged to the kings. Edward declares, in a law recorded 
in a volume of the Exchequer, ‘ I will that all men do abstain from 
hunting in my woods, and that my will shall be obeyed under 
penalty of life.’ Edgar, the darling monarch of the monks, and, in- 
deed, one of the most poimlar of the Anglo-Saxon kings, was so 
rigorous in his forest-laAvs that the thegns murmured as well as the 
lower husbandmen, who had been accustomed to use the woods for 
pasturage and boscage. Canute’s forest-laws were meant as a liberal 
concession to public feeling on the subject ; they are more definite 
than Edgar’s, but terribly stringent ; if a freeman killed one of the 
king’s deer, or struck his forester, he lost his freedom and became a 
penal serf (wite theowe) — that is, he ranked Avith felons. Never- 
theless, Canute allowed bishops, abbots, and thegns to hunt in his 
woods — a privilege restored by Henry iii. The nobility, after the 
Conquest, being excluded from the royal chases, petitioned to en- 
close parks, as early even as the reign of William i. ; and by the 
time of his son, Henry i., parks became so common as to be at once 
a ridicule and a grievance. — [L.] 

Fortresses in England (p. 177). 

The Saxons Avere sad destroyers. They destroyed the strong- 
holds which the Briton had received from the Roman, and built 
very few others. Thus the land was left open to the Danes. Alfred, 
sensible of this defect, repaired the walls of London and other cities, 
and urgently recommended his nobles and prelates to build for- 
tresses, but could not persuade them. His great-souled daughter, 
Elfleda, was the only imitator of his example. She built eight 
castles in three years. — Asser, de Reh. Gest. Alf., pp. 17, 18. It 
was thus that in a country, in which the general features do not 
allow of protracted warfare, the inhabitants were always at the 
hazard of a single pitched battle. Subsequent to the Conquest, in 
the reign of John, it was, in truth, the strong castle of Dover, on 
the siege of which Prince Louis lost so much time, that saved the 
realm of England from passing to a French dynasty ; and as, in 
later periods, strongholds fell again into decay, so it is remarkable 
to observe how easily the country was overrun after any signal 
victory of one of the contending parties. In this truth, the Wars 
of the Roses abound with much instruction. The handful of foreign 
mercenaries Avith which Henry vii. won his crown, — though the real 
heir, the Earl of Warwick (granting Edward iv.’s children to be 
illegitimate, which they clearly were, according to the rites of the 
Church), had never lost his claim, by the defeat of Richard at Bos- 
worth ; — the march of the Pretender to Derby,— the dismay it 
spread throughout England,— and the certainty of his conquest had 
he proceeded ;— the easy victory of William iii. at a time when 
certainly the bulk of the nation was opposed to his cause ;— are all 
facts pregnant with warnings, to which we are as blind as we were 
in the days of Alfred. — [L.] 


Fosses. 


The ditch or entrenchment of a Roman fortress or town. 



SPEC TAXORS AT HAROLD’s CORONATION 


[Facsimile of the Bayeux Tafestry\ 








. > . "^.V ■ r. ‘ . .-! 


^ ■> 


D 
















•ilE- . >■ 


i . • 


. V JEfT 


• # 


4 , 


•ifilt y * 


si*«4 . 




♦ T 





V 


• 1- 




• ^-1 rflifif 


\‘ 


>« 


‘^ttaill^ 


^ M w '** * i 

I » . w 





T 


*.1*^ 






- Jf- _!•■ 



GLOSSARY AND NOTES 


Ixi 


Fkeya (p. 142). 

The name of the sun-god. Friday is Freya’s day.— See Grimm’s 
Teutonic Mythology^ and Kemble’s Saxons in England. 


Frillas (p. 142). 

Frilla, the Danish word for a lady who, often with the wife’s con- 
sent, was added to the domestic circle by the husband. The word is 
here used by Hilda in a general sense of reproach. Both marriage 
and concubinage were common amongst the Anglo-Saxon priesthood, 
despite the unheeded canons ; and so, indeed, they were with the 
French clergy.— [L.] 


Fyloia (p. 79). 

This lovely superstition in the Scandinavian belief is the more 
remarkable because it does not appear in the creed of the Germanic 
Teutons, and is closely allied with the good angel, or guardian genius 
of the Persians. It forms, therefore, one of the arguments that 
favour the Asiatic origin of the Norsemen. The Fylgia {followhig, 
or attendant, spirit) was always represented as a female. Her 
influence was not uniformly favourable, though such was its general 
characteristic. She was capable of revenge if neglected, but had the 
devotion of her sex when properly treated. Mr. Grenville Pigott, 
in his popular work, entitled, A Manual of Scandinavian Mythology, 
relates an interesting legend with respect to one of these supernatural 
ladies ; — A Scandinavian warrior, Halfred Vandrtedakald, having 
embraced Christianity, and being attacked by a disease which he 
thought mortal, was naturally anxious that a spirit who had accom- 
panied him through his pagan career should not attend him into that 
other world, where her society might involve him in disagreeable 
consequences. The persevering Fylgia, however, in the shape of a 
fair maiden, walked on the waves of the sea after her viking’s ship. 
She came thus in sight of all the crew ; and Halfred, recognising his 
Fylgia, told her point blank that their connection was at an end for 
ever. The forsaken Fylgia had a high spirit of her own, and she 
then asked Thorold ‘ if he would take her.’ Thorold ungallantly re- 
fused; but Halfred the younger said, ‘Maiden, I will take thee.’ 
In the various Norse Saga there are many anecdotes of these spirits, 
who are always charming, because, with their less earthly attributes, 
they always blend something of the woman. The poetry embodied 
in their existence is of a softer and more humane character than that 
common with the stern and vast demons of the Scandinavian my- 
thology. — [L.] Grimm, Teutonic Mythology, ii. 874-879, gives a 
complete account of these guardian spirits. 

Galdra (p. 79). 

An incantation, enchantment, a charm. — [Bosworth.] Magic. — [L.] 

Geld. 

(1) a payment, a compensation, turn, fold, tribute ; (2) a guild, 
society, or club, where payment was made for mutual support, like 
our benefit societies, — [Bosworth.] The history of Gilds has been 


Ixii 


HAROLD 


the subject of many independent works besides the treatment of the 
subject by economists. The principal English authorities are Dr. C. 
Gross, Dr. Brentano, and Mr. C. Walford. 

Gold (p. 197). 

The Welch seem to have had a profusion of the precious metals, 
very disproportioued to the scarcity of their coined money. To say 
nothing of the torques, bracelets, and even breastplates of gold, 
common with their numerous chiefs, their laws affix to offences 
})enalties which attest the prevalent waste both of gold and silver. 
Thus, an insult to a sub-king of Aberfraw is atoned by a silver rod 
as thick as the king’s little finger, which is in length to reach from 
the ground to his mouth when sitting ; and a gold cup, with a cover 
as broad as the king’s face, and the thickness of a ploughman’s nail, 
or the shell of a goose’s egg. I suspect that it was precisely because 
the Welch coined little or no money that the metals they possessed 
became thus common in domestic use. Gold would have been more 
rarely seen, even amongst the Peruvians, had they coined it into 
money. — [L.] 

Gleemen (p. 22). 

Upon the establishment of the Saxons in Britain these poetical 
musicians were their chief favourites ; the courts of the kings and 
the residences of the opulent afforded them a constant asylum : their 
persons were protected, and admission granted to them without the 
least restraint. In the Anglo-Saxon language they were distin- 
guished by two appellations : the one equivalent to the modern term 
of gleemen or merrymakers, and the other harpers, derived from the 
harp, an instrument they usually plaved upon. — Strutt’s Sports and 
Pastimes of the People of England. (Anglo-Saxon Gledman. ) 

Glass (p. 4). 

Glass, introduced about the time of Bede, was more common then 
in the houses of the wealthy, whether for vessels or windows, than 
in the much later age of the gorgeous Plantagenets. Alfred, in one 
of his poems, introduces glass as a familiar illustration : — 

‘ So oft the mild sea 
With south wind 
As grey glass clear 
Becomes grimly troubled.’ 

Shar. Turner. — [L.] 


Goda, or Godiva (p. 73). 

The sister of Edward the Confessor, married first to Rolf’s father, 
Count of Mantes, secondly to the Count of Boulogne. — [L.] 

Godwin (p. 8G). 

Sharon Turner quotes from the Knytlinga Saga what he calls 
‘ an explanation of Godwin’s career or parentage, which no other 
document affords ’ ; viz. — ‘ that Ulf, a Danish chief, after the battle 
of Skorstein, between Canute and Edmund Ironsides, pursued the 
English fugitives into a wood, lost his way, met, on the morning, a 



AN ENGLISH SHIP GOING TO NOKMANUY TO ANNOUNCE HAROLD’s 
ACCESSION TO THE THRONE 


[Facsimile of the Bayeux Tapestry] 




'f-fn 









< 




7cV;^ ■ '.ir . V- - ^ 

<•" 4 •'»-** .1 V- .,1?^ 


.J .'> • Jl 


4 f| 


. • 


* f 




<* ip* 


. *11 »L‘J 


. 4 ’ 





•X 


i n-<^ r ., : ' t I 

^*2 ■ . • ^ r 







♦j ^ U * I 




1 




• I 





1 ^' «i£, ■•■' 

»' 



it i; 




• '• 


► . 


'.^-C ‘ 








»< 


. m. 


I . ^ 



GLOSSARY AND NOTES Ixiii 

Saxon youth driving cattle to their pasture, asked him to direct him 
in safety to Chute’s ships, and offered him the bribe of a gold 
ring for his guidance; the young herdsman refused the bribe, but 
sheltered the Dane in the cottage of his father (who is represented 
^ a mere peasant), and conducted him the next morning to the 
Danish camp ; previously to which, the youth’s father represented 
to Ulf, that his son, Godwin, could never, after aiding a Dane to 
escape, rest in safety with his countrymen, and besought him to 
befriend his son’s fortunes with Canute.’ The Dane promised, and 
kept his word; hence Godwin’s rise. Thierry, in his History of 
the Norman Conquest, tells the same story, on the authority of 
Torfaeus, Hist. Rer. Nomoeg. Now I need not say to any scholar 
in our early history, that the Norse Chronicles, abounding with 
romance and legend, are never to be received as authorities counter 
to our own records, though occasionally valuable to supply omis- 
sions in the latter; and unfortunately for this pretty story, we 
have against it the direct statements of the very best authorities we 
possess, viz., the Saxon Chronicle and Florence of Worcester. 
The Saxon Chronicle expressly tells us that Godwin’s father was 
Childe of Sussex (Florence calls him minister or thegn of Sussex, 
Suthsaxonum Ministrum Wolfnothem. Flor. Wig.), and that Wul- 
noth was nephew to Edric, the all-powerful Earl or Duke of Mercia. 
Florence confirms this statement, and gives the pedigree, which may 
be deduced as follows ; — 


Edric married Egelric, 

Edgith, daughter of surnamed Leofwine. 

King Ethelred ii. | 

Egelmar. 

Wolnoth. 

I 

Godwin. 

Thus this ‘old peasant,’ as the Norse Chronicles call Wolnoth, 
was, according to our most unquestionable authorities, a thegn of 
one of the most important divisions in England, and a member 
of the most powerful family in the kingdom ! Now, if our Saxon 
authorities needed any aid from probabilities, it is scarcely worth 
asking, which is the more probable, that the son of a Saxon herdsman 
should in a few years rise to such power as to marry the sister of 
the royal Danish Conqueror — or that that honour should be con- 
ferred on the most able member of a house already allied to Saxon 
royalty, and which evidently retained its power after the fall of its 
head, the treacherous Edric Streone ! Even after the Conquest, one 
of Streone’s nephews, Edricus Sylvaticus, is mentioned {Simon. 
Dunelm.) as ‘a very powerful thegn.’ Upon the whole the account 
given of Godwin’s rise in the text of the work appears the most 
correct that conjectures, based on our scanty historical information, 
will allow. In 1009 a.d., Wolnoth the Childe or Thegn of Sussex, 
defeats the fleets of Ethelred, under his uncle Brightric, and goes 
therefore into rebellion. Thus when, in 1014 (five years afterwards), 
Canute is chosen king by all the fleet, it is probable that Wolnoth 
and Godwin, his son, espoused his cause ; and that Godwin, subse- 
quently presented to Canute as a young noble of great promise, was 


Ixiv 


HAROLD 


favoured by that sagacious king, and ultimately honoured with 
the hand, first of his sister, secondly of his niece, as a mode of con- 
ciliating the Saxon thegns. — [L.] 

‘Is it astonishing,’ asked the people (referring to Edward’s pre- 
ference for the Normans), ‘ that the author and sujjport of Edward’s 
reign should be indignant at seeing new men from a foreign nation 
raised above him, and yet never does he utter one harsh word to the 
man whom he himself created king?’ — Hazlitt’s Thierry, vol. i. p. 
126. -[L] 

Gonfanon (p. 28). 

A banner or standard (A.-N.). — [Halliwell]. A small flag attached 
to the pole of a lance. ‘ It differs from a banner in this respect, that 
instead of being square, and fastened to a tonsure bar, the Gonfanon, 
though of the same figure, was fixed in a frame made to turn like a 
modern ship’s vane, with two or three streamers or tails. The object 
of the Gonfanon was principally to render great people more con- 
spicuous to their followers, and to terrify the horses of their ad- 
versaries.’ — Sir H. Nicholas. — [Fairholt, lllus.'] 


Gre-hound (p. 100). 

The gre-hound was so called from hunting the gre or badger. — 
[L.1 

Guerdon. 

Reward ; rocompence. 

Gurth (p. 160). 

As Sir F. Palgrave shrewdly conjectures, upon the dismemberment 
of the vast earldom of Wessex, on Harold’s accession to the throne, 
that portion of it comprising Sussex (the old government of his 
grandfather Wolnoth) seems to have been assigned to Gurth. — [L.] 


Gvn.®ceum (p. 4). 

The apartment in which the Anglo-Saxon women lived. — Fosbrooke, 
ii. 570. — [L.] This was an apartment of the Roman villa, not of the 
Anglo-Saxon house, and it adjoined the suite of apartments devoted 
to the personal use of the master of the house. The word is derived 
from the Greeks, from whom the Romans borrowed the plan of their 
more luxurious villas. 


Hardrada (p. 350). 

Laing’s Snorro Sturleson. — ‘The old Norwegian ell was less than 
the present ell ; and Thorlasius reckons, in a note on this chapter, 
that Harold’s stature would be about four Danish ells ; viz. about 
eight feet.’ — Laing’s note to the text. Allowing for the exaggeration 
of the chronicler, it seems probable, at least, that Hardrada exceeded 
seven feet, since (as Laing remarks in the same note), and as we 
shall see hereafter, ‘our English Harold offered him, according to 
both English and Danish authority, seven feet of land for a grave, 
or as much more as his stature exceeding that of other men might 
require.’— [L.] 



^ '' mgaea e 


KING HAROLD LEARNING THE NEWS OF WILLIAM’s PREPARATIONS FOR INVASION 


{Facsimile of the Bayeux Tapestry] 





Ixv 


GLOSSARY AND NOTES 

Harold (p. G3). 

Some of our historians erroneously represent Harold as the eldest 
son. But Florence, the best authority we have, in the silence of the 
Saxon Chronicle, as well as Knyghton, distinctly states Sweyn to 
be the eldest ; Harold was the second, and Tostig was the third. 
Sweyn’s seniority seems corroborated by the greater importance of 
his earldom. The Norman chroniclers, in their spite to Harold, wish 
to make him junior to Tostig — for the reasons evident at the close of 
this work. And the Norwegian chronicler, Snorro Sturleson, says 
that Harold was the youngest of all the sons ; so little was really 
known, or cared to be accurately known, of that great house which 
so nearly founded a new dynasty of English kings.— [L.] 

"NVilliam of Poitiers says that he was a man to whom imprison- 
ment was more odious than shipwreck. — [L.] 

Harold’s birthday was certainly the 14th of October. According 
to Mr. Roscoe, in his Life of William the Conqueror, "William was 
born also on the 14th of October. — [L.] 

Hawk (p. 19). 

The Peregrine hawk built on the rocks of Llandudno, and this 
breed was celebrated, even to the days of Elizabeth. Burleigh 
thanks one of the Mostyns for a cast of hawks from Llandudno. — 

[L.] 


Heathenism (p. 344). 

It is curious to notice how England was represented as a country 
almost heathen ; its conquest was regarded quite as a pious benevo- 
lent act of charity — a sort of mission for converting the savages. 
And all this while England was under the most slavish ecclesiastical 
domination, and the priesthood possessed a third of its land ! But 
the heart of England never forgave that league of the Pope with the 
Conqueror ; and the seed of the Reformed Religion was trampled 
deep into the Saxon soil by the feet of the invading Norman. — [L.] 

Helm (p. 48). 

The helmet of a knight, from the old Norman-French word 
heaulme. 


Heralds (p. 5G). 

Heralds, though probably the word is Saxon, were not then known 
in the modern acceptation of the word. The name given to the 
messenger or envoy who fulfilled that office was hode or nuncius. 
-[L.] 

So much of the ‘ pride, pomp, and circumstance ’ which invest the 
Age of Chivalry is borrowed from these companions of princes, and 
blazoners of noble deeds, that it may interest the reader, if I set 
briefly before him what our best antiquaries have said as to their first 
appearance in our own history. 

Camden (somewhat, I fear, too rashly) says, that ‘ their reputation, 
honour, and name began in the time of Charlemagne.’ The first 
mention of heralds in England occurs in the reign of Edward in.. 




\ 


Ixvi HAROLD 

a reign in which Chivalry was at its dazzling zenith. "Whitlock says 
‘that some derive the name of Herald from Hereauld,’ a Saxon 
word (old soldier, or old master), ‘because anciently they were 
chosen from veteran soldiers.’ Joseph Holland says, ‘I find that 
Malcolm, King of Scots, sent a herald unto AVilliam the Conqueror, 
to treat of a peace, when both armies were in order of battle.’ 
Agard affirms, that ‘at the conquest there was no practice of 
heraldry ’ ; and observes truly, ‘ that the Conqueror used a monk 
for his messenger to King Harold.’ To this I may add, that monks 
or priests also fulfil the office of heralds in the old French and 
Norman Chronicles. Thus Charles the Simple sends an archbishop 
to treat with Rolfganger; Louis the Debonnair sends to Mormon, 
chief of the Bretons, ‘a sage and prudent abbot.’ But in the 
Saxon times, the nuncius (a word still used in heraldic Latin) was 
in the regular service both of the King and the great Earls. The 
Saxon name for such a messenger was bode, and when employed in 
hostile negotiations, he was styled war-bode. The messengers be- 
tween Godwin and the King would seem, by the general sense of 
the chronicles, to have been certain thegns acting as mediators. — [L.] 

Heretogh (p. 168). 

A general, consul, duke. — [Bosworth.] 

Herleve (p. 21). 

Herlevi^Arlotta), William’s mother, married Herluin de Conte- 
ville, after the death of Duke Robert, and had by him two sons, 
Robert, Count of Mortain, and Odo, Bishop of Bayeux. — Ord. 
Vital., lib. vii.— [L.J 


Hors Thegn (p. 69). 

A horse-thane, an equerry. — [Bosworth. J 

House Carles (p. 113). 

House carles in the royal court were the bodyguard, mostly, if 
not all, of Danish origin. They appear to have been first formed, or 
at least employed in that capacity, by Canute. With the great 
earls, the house carles probably exercised the same functions ; but in 
the ordinary acceptation of the word in families of lower rank, house 
carle was a domestic servant. — [L.] 

Huerdan (p. 199). 

Ireland. — [L.] 

Hwata (p. 286). 

Icel. hvata, f. the goddess Hertha, Ertha, the earth, mentioned by 
Tacitus. The Danish Island, Sealand, contains still, at Hlethra- 
burg, the remains of the temple Hertha. Omens, divinations, sooth- 
sayings. — [Bosworth.] 

Hyde (p. 70). 

Originally the land of a family consisting of homestead, home- 
pasture, arable, pasture, and wood.— See Seebohm, The English 



[Fairholt’s Costume in England^ vol, i. p. 42J [Fairholt s Costtone England^ vol. i 







GLOSSARY AND NOTES 


Ixvii 


Village Community, Then the measure of the arable only varying 
at the time of Domesday, but fixed in Henry ii.’s reign at 100 
acres.— [Stubbs, Select Charters.'\ 

Javelin Throwers (p. 393). 

A light hand-spear, used for throwing at an enemy. Livy informs 
us that the blades of the Roman javelin were purposely made very 
slender, in order that, when throwm, whatever they struck against 
might be suflScient to bend them, and therefore render them useless 
to throw back again and annoy the attacker. — [Fairholt.] 

Kiss of Peace (p. 97). 

This kiss of peace was held singularly sacred by the Normans, and 
all the more knightly races of the continent. Even the craftiest dis- 
simulator, designing fraud, and stratagem, and murder to a foe, would 
not, to gain his ends, betray the pledge of the kiss of peace. When 
Henry ii. consented to meet Becket after his return from Rome, 
and promised to remedy all of which his prelate complained, he 
struck prophetic dismay into Becket’s heart by evading the kiss of 
peace. — [L.] 


. Lady Lane, London (p. 24). 

Lad Lane. — [L.] From Bagford’s Letter to Hearne. 


Land Eyda (p. 347). 

Thierry translates the word ‘Ravager of the World’: others, the 
- Land-ravager. In Danish, the word is Land-ode, in Icelandic, 
Land-cvdo. — Note to Thierry’s History of the Conquest of England, 
book III. vol. vi. p. 169 (Hazlitt’s translation). — [L.] 


Lanfranc, the first Anglo-Norman Archbishop of Canterbury 

(p. 47). 

Lanfranc was, in all respects, one of the most remarkable men of 
the eleventh century. He was born in Pavia, about 1005. His 
family was noble — his father ranked amongst the magistrature of 
Pavia, the Lombard capital. From his earliest youth he gave him- 
self up, with all a scholar’s zeal, to the liberal arts, and the special 
knowledge of law, civil and ecclesiastical. He studied at Cologne, 
and afterwards taught and practised law in his own country. ‘ While 
yet extremely young,’ says one of the lively chroniclers, ‘he triumphed 
over the ablest advocates, and the torrents of his eloquence confounded 
the subtlest rhetorician.’ His decisions were received as authorities 
by the Italian jurisconsults and tribunals. His mind, to judge both 
by his history and his peculiar reputation (for probably few, if any, 
students of our day can pretend to more than a partial or super- 
ficial acquaintance with his writings), was one that delighted in 
subtleties and casuistical refinements; but a sense too large and 
commanding for those studies which amuse but never satisfy the 
higher intellect, became disgusted betimes with mere legal dialectics. 


Ixviii 


HAROLD 


Those grand and absorbing mysteries connected with the Christian 
faith and the Roman Church (grand and absorbing in proportion as 
their premises are taken by religious belief as mathematical axioms 
already proven) seized hold of his imagination, and tasked to the 
depth his inquisitive reason. The Chronicle of Knyghton cites an 
interesting anecdote of his life at this its important crisis. He had 
retired to a solitary spot beside the Seine to meditate on the 
mysterious essence of the Trinity, when he saw a boy ladling out the 
waters of the river that ran before him into a little well. His curiosity 
arrested, he asked ‘ What the boy proposed to do ? ’ The boy replied, 
‘ To empty yon deep into this well.’ ‘ That canst thou never do,^ said 
the scholar. ‘Nor canst thou,’ answered the boy, ‘exhaust the deep 
on which thou dost meditate into the well of thy reason.’ Therewith 
the speaker vanished, and Lanfranc, resigning the hope to achieve the 
mighty mystery, threw himself at once into the arms of faith, and 
took his refuge in the monastery of Bee. 

The tale may be a legend, but not an idle one. Perhaps he related 
it himself as a parable, and by the fiction explained the process of 
thought that decided his career. In the j^rime of his manhood, about 
1042, when he was thirty-seven years old, and in the zenith of his 
scholarly fame, he professed. The Convent of Bee had been lately 
founded, under Herluin, the first abbot; there Lanfranc opened a 
school, which became one of the most famous throughout the west of 
Europe. Indeed, under the Lombard’s influence, the then obscure 
Convent of Bee, to which the solitude of the site and the poverty of 
the endowment allured his choice, grew the Academe of the age. ‘ It 
was,’ says Orderic, in his charming chronicle, ‘it was under such a 
master that the Normans received their first notions of literature ; 
from that school emerged the multitude of eloquent philosophers who 
adorned alike divinity and science. From France, Gascony, Bretagne, 
Flanders, scholars thronged to receive his lessons.’ — Orderic. Vital. 
lib. iv. 

At first, as superficially stated in the tale, Lanfranc had taken part 
against the marriage of William with Matilda of Flanders — a marriage 
clearly contrary to the formal canons of the Roman Church, and was 
banished by the fiery Duke ; though William’s displeasure gave way 
at ‘the decent joke’ {jocus dccens) recorded in the text. At Rome, 
however, his influence, arguments, and eloquence were all enlisted on 
the side of William : and it was to the scholar of Pavia that the great 
Norman owed the ultimate sanction of his marriage, and the repeal 
of the interdict that excommunicated his realm. The date of 
William’s marriage has been variously stated in English and Norman 
history, but is usually fixed in 1051-2. M. Pluquet, however, in a 
note to his edition of the Roman de Rou, says that the only authority 
for the date of that marriage is in the Chronicle of Tours, and it is 
there referred to 1053. It would seem that the Papal excommuni- 
cation was not actually taken off till 1059 ; nor the formal dispen- 
sation for the marriage granted till 1063. 

At Rome he assisted in the council held 1059 (the year wherein the 
ban of the Church was finally and formally taken from Normandy), 
at which the famous Berenger, Archdeacon of Angers (against whom 
he had waged a polemical controversy that did more than all else to 
secure his repute at the Pontifical Court), abjured ‘his heresies’ as to 
the Real Presence in the sacrament of the Eucharist. 

In 1062, or 1063, Duke William, against the Lombard’s own will 
(for Lanfranc genuinely loved the liberty of letters more than vulgar 




/ 


[Fairholt’s Costume in England, vol. i. p. 46] [Fairholt’s Costume in England, vol. i. p. 45] 






f « 


• W ! 




.•<_ __ 











^. 4 , 




*'"'■ \ ‘ -'lilS " ^ 

^ * 7 ' ’* ■ ^ ^ 


' \ 


ii ^'3 








» ••rr ./'A 





,y -. » • ■ ■ f ■;^ ' ■ .-^ » 



' * •• ,M' MSlMij^;*;' --Jf I 

A j >>v ■■■5liMjuMi..''»an 



M- ♦ • •i 


* •• .^ ? ‘^'■J‘ > 

^'# W 0 * * 

'm^. • • 


■“Aici, .. vl^- 

"-.m 


« ^-1 « • * 


fr 


<;.lbO*^vJKMB . 

• • t- -' -r * ■• ^Jr 

1 *^y 




« 



•V s 

» V\ »*^'*v 

Vi 04 i 








^4 



L*fV 




■‘ V 


f *J ■*; 







i t 


■ r ■ ^■ 

rf ^ 






GLOSSARY AND NOTES 


Ixix 


power), raised him to the abbacy of St. Stephen of Caen. From that 
time, his ascendency over his haughty lord was absolute. The con- 
temporary historian (William of Poitiers), says that ‘William re- 
spected him as a father, venerated him as a preceptor, and cherished 
him as a brother or son.’ He confided to him his own designs ; and 
committed to him the entire superintendence of the ecclesiastical 
orders throughout Normandy. Eminent no less for his practical 
genius in affairs, than for his rare piety and theological learning, 
Lanfranc attained indeed to the true ideal of the Scholar ; to whom, 
of all men, nothing that is human should be foreign ; whose closet is 
but a hermit’s cell, unless it is the microcosm that embraces the mart 
and the forum ; who by the reflective part of his nature seizes the 
higher region of philosophy— by the energetic, is attracted to the 
central focus of action. For scholarship is but the parent of ideas ; 
and ideas are the parents of action. 

After the conquest, as prelate of Canterbury, Lanfranc became the 
second man in the kingdom — happy, perhaps, for England had he 
been the first ; for all the anecdotes recorded of him show a deep and 
genuine sympathy with the oppressed population. But William the 
King of the English escaped from the control which Lanfranc had 
imposed on the Duke of the Normans. The scholar had strengthened 
the aspirer ; he could only imperfectly influence the conqueror. 

Lanfranc was not, it is true, a faultless character. He was a 
priest, a lawyer, and a man of the world — three characters hard to 
amalgamate into perfection, especially in the eleventh century. But 
he stands in gigantic and brilliant contrast to the rest of our priest- 
hood in his own day, both in the superiority of his virtues, and in his 
exemption from the ordinary vices. He regarded the cruelties of Odo 
of Bayeux with detestation, opposed him with firmness, and ulti- 
mately, to the joy of all England, ruined his power. He gave a great 
impetus to learning; he set a high example to his monks, in his 
freedom from the mercenary sins of their order ; he laid the founda- 
tions of a powerful and splendid church, which, only because it 
failed in future Lanfrancs, failed in effecting the civilisation of which 
he designed it to be the instrument. He refused to crown William 
Rufus, until that king had sworn to govern according to law and to 
right ; and died, though a Norman usurper, honoured and beloved by 
the Saxon people. Scholar, and morning star of light in the dark 
age of force and fraud, it is easier to praise thy life, than to track 
through the length of centuries all the measureless and invisible 
benefits which the life of one scholar bequeaths to the world — in the 
souls it awakens — in the thoughts it suggests ! — [L.] For authorities 
for the above sketch, and for many interesting details of Lanfranc’s 
character, see Orderic. Vital., Hen. de Knyghton, lib. ii., Gervasius, 
and the life of Lanfranc, to be found in the collection of his WorkSt 
etc. 


Laws (p. 14). 

The laws collected by Edward the Confessor, and in later times so 
often and so fondly referred to, contained many introduced by the 
Danes, which had grown popular with the Saxon people, hluch 
which we ascribe to the Norman Conqueror pre-existed in the Anglo- 
Danish, and may be found both in Normandy, and parts of Scandi- 
navia, to this day. — See Hakewell’s Treatise on the Antiquity of 
Laws in this Island^ in Hearne’s Curious Discourses.— [L.'] 


Ixx 


HAROLD 

Leaches (p. 137). 

The origin of the word leach (physician), which has puzzled some 
inquirers, is from lich or leac, a body. Letch is the old Saxon word 
for surgeon. — [L.] 


Leodgate (p. 25). 

Ludgate. — [L.] From Verstegan. 

Lere. 

Learning, knowledge, or lesson learnt. Lytton seems to use it in 
rather a different sense. 


* Lithsmen (p. 07). 

Sailor. — [Bosworth]. 

London (pp. 23, 28). 

London received a charter from William at the instigation of the 
Norman Bishop of London ; but it probably only confirmed the pre- 
vious municipal constitution, since it says briefly, ‘ I grant you all to 
be as law-worthy as ye were in the days of King Edward.’ The 
rapid increase, however, of the commercial prosperity and political 
importance of London after the Conquest, is attested in many 
chronicles, and becomes strikingly evident even on the surface of 
history. — [L.] 

The comparative wealth of London was indeed considerable. 
When, in 1018, all the rest of England was taxed to an amount con- ' 
sidered stupendous, viz., 71,000 Saxon pounds, London contributed 
11,000 pounds besides. — [L.] 

London Bridge (p. 22). 

There is an animated description of this ‘ Battle of London Bridge,’ 
which gave ample theme to the Scandinavian scalds, in Snorro 
Sturleson : — 

‘ London Bridge is broken down ; 

Gold is won and bright renown. 

Shields resounding, 

War horns sounding, 

Hildur shouting in the din I 
Arrows singing. 

Mail-coats ringing, 

Odin makes our Olaf win ! ‘ 

Laing’s Heimskritigla, vol. ii. p. 10. — [L.] 

See also Mrs. Gomme’s Traditional Games, s.v. ‘ London Bridge.’ 

Lord (p. 20). 

From Hlaf, a loaf, Hlaford, lord, giver of bread ; Hleafdean, lady 
server of bread.— [L.] From Verstegan, Rest of Decayed Intelligence. 

Mallet (p. 34). 

This is a genuine Scandinavian name to this day. — [L.] 



ANGLO SAXON HELMETS 

[Fairholt’s Costutne in England, vol. i. p. 56] 

1. Square helmet of the early period 

2. Phrygian-shaped cap borrowed from classic costume 

3. Square helmet with the addition of a sort of crest 

4. Pointed helmet of a simpler form than No. 2 

5. Pointed helmet with the back serrated like a cock’s comb 

6. Commonest form of helmet 


I 



A 




4 


V 


Ixxi 


GLOSSARY AND NOTES 

Managarm (p. 231). 

‘ A hag dwells in a wood called Janvid, the Iron Wood, the mother 
of many gigantic sons shaped like wolves ; there is one of a race more 
fearful than all, named “Managarm.” He will be filled with the 
blood of men who draw near their end, and will swallow up the moon 
and stain the heavens and the earth with blood.’ — From the Prose 
Edda. In the Scandinavian poetry, Managarm is sometimes the 
symbol of icar, and the ‘Iron Wood’ a metaphor for spears.— [L.] 

M ANGUS (p. 21). 

An English money of the same value as the mark or 30 penings. — 
[Stubbs, Select Charters.'] 

Massere (p. 25). 

Merchant, mercer. — [L.] 


Mavis (p. 186). 

The throstle or song thrush. 

Mead (p. 180). 

A fermented liquor made from honey and water flavoured with 
spices. Anglo-Saxon Medu. 

Mews (p. 25). 

Meuse. Apparently rather a hawk hospital, from Muta (Camden). 
Du Fresne, in his Glossary, says, Muta is in French Le Meue, and a 
disease to which the hawk was subject on changing its feathers. — 
[L.] 

Mimir (p. 231). 

The most celebrated of the giants. The Vaner, with whom he was 
left as a hostage, cut off his head. Odin embalmed it by his seid or 
magic art, pronounced over it mystic runes, and ever after consulted 
it on critical occasions. — [L.] 

Minors (p. 162). 

It is impossible to form any just view of the state of parties, and 
the position of Harold in the later portions of this work, unless the 
reader will bear constantly in mind the fact that, from the earliest 
period, minors were set aside, as a matter of course, by the Saxon 
customs. Henry observes that, in the whole history of the Heptarchy, 
there is but One example of a minority, and that a short and unfor- 
tunate one ; so, in the later times, the great Alfred takes the throne, 
to the exclusion of the infant son of his elder brother. Only under 
very peculiar circumstances, backed, as in the case of Edmund Iron- 
sides, by precocious talents and manhood on the part of the minor, 
were there exceptions to the general laws of succession. The same 
rule obtained with the earldoms ; the fame, power, and popularity of 
Siward could not submit his Northumbrian earldom to his infant son 
Waltheof, so gloomily renowned in a subsequent reign.— [L.] 


Ixxii 


HAROLD 

Mone (p. 21). 


A monk. — [L.] 

Monks (p. 142). 

Hilda, not only as a heathen, but as a Dane, would be no favourer 
of monks ; they were unknown in Denmark at that time, and the 
Danes held them in odium. — Ord. Vital. ^ lib. vii. — [L.] 

Moors (p. 23). 

Domesday makes mention of the Moors, and the Germans (the 
Emperor’s merchants) that were sojourners or settlers in London. 
The Saracens at that time were among the great merchants of the 
world; Marseilles, Arles, Avignon, Montpellier, Toulouse, were the 
wonted 4tapes of their active traders. What civilisers, what teachers 
they were — those same Saracens ! How much in arms and in arts we 
owe them ! Fathers of the Proven 9 al poetry, they, far more than even 
the Scandinavian scalds, have influenced the literature of Christian 
Europe. The most ancient chronicle of the Cid was written in Arabic, 
a little before the Cid’s death, by two of his pages who were Mussul- 
men. The medical science of the Moors for six centuries enlightened 
Europe, and their metaphysics were adopted in all the Christian 
universities. — [L. ] 

Moba.t (p. 31). 

Wine boiled to its third part. — [Bosworth.] 

Morgen Gift (p. 118). 

Morgen Gifu, a marriage settlement. The morgen gift was a 
settlement on the lady, very similar to a modern jointure. It was 
settled before the nuptials, but was not actually given away until 
the morning afterwards, or until the marriage was completed. — 
[Bosworth.] 

Morthwyrtha (pp. 2, 82). 

Worshipper of the dead.— [L.] 

Net Mail (p. 391). 

This mail appears in that age to have been sewed upon linen or 
cloth. In the later age of the crusaders, it was more artful, and the 
links supported each other, without being attached to any other 
material. — [L.] 

Niddering (p. 56). 

A coward; contemptible fellow. The word is still preserved in 
Lincolnshire as Niderling.— [Halliwell, Diet.} 

Niffelheim (p. 93). 

The shadowy region of death. It was believed to consist of nine 
worlds reserved for those who died of disease or old age.— [Mallet, 
Northern Antiquities, p. 106.] 



MOUNTED WARRIORS (aNGLO SAXON) 
[Fairholt’s Costume in England^ vol. i. p. 53 1 







\ 


% 



: ‘.. • t * 

3 Jfe. M- 

■■' ‘■^S ii 


^'■ 


f.S 

i w : l'T 

% ->» ■ .. '•' f 

^ ■ 






vK. t ♦ 



•7;^ )! ' '. •''. Tl... 


-.«. '#,Ct - jN 


*’r><rv«!> ■. 




4 *• <* 


iisisff > 


~-A 


I V 


> ■ tif*‘^jv,: A* a. Kr.'U: 

^.' _. _ 'lik-. « ^ « 




1 -*^ > ' 

I * 


V 

ll^* 


; ' 

•% 

■v.lt 


^ t’‘V^ 


rr 




•v ’ j p 1 ■ ■ ' ’'A' ^ 

• 1 «<»<# » -hs a '*y 



.Hp;*'.v,W 


,..r 


^ f ■'<• 




i>t.- - • ■■^, 





■Jl S 


dl 
r^ A 


4 m 






Ixxiii 


GLOSSARY AND NOTES 

Night Rail (p. 40). 

_A few generations later this comfortable and decent fashion of 
night-gear was abandoned ; and our forefathers, Saxon and Norman, 
went to bed inpuris naturalihus, like the Laplanders.— [L.] 

Norman Names (p. 13). 

The reason why the Normans lost their old names is to be found in 
their conversion to Christianity. They were baptized ; and Franks, 
as their godfathers, gave them new appellations. Thus, Charles the 
Simple insists that Rolf -ganger shall change his law (creed) and his 
name, and Rolf or Ron is christened Robert. A few of those who 
retained Scandinavian names at the time of the Conquest will be 
cited hereafter. — [L.] 

Normans and French (p. 178). 

The Normans and French detested each other; and it was the 
Norman who taught to the Saxon his own animosities against the 
Frank. A very eminent antiquary, indeed, De la Rue, considered 
that the Bayeux Tapestry could not be the work of Matilda, or her 
age, because in it the Normans are called French. But that is a 
gross blunder on his part ; for William, in his own charters, calls the 
Normans Franci.^ Wace, in \\\% Roman de Rou, often styles the 
Normans ‘ French ’ ; and William of Poitiers, a contemporary of the 
Conqueror, gives them also in one passage the same name. Still, it 
is true that the Normans were generally very tenacious of their 
distinction from their gallant but hostile neighbours. — [L.] 

Normans, Dukes of the (p. 11). 

It is noticeable that the Norman dukes did not call themselves 
Counts or Dukes of Normandy, but of the Normans ; and the first 
Anglo-Norman kings, till Richard the First, styled themselves Kings 
of the English, not of England. In both Saxon and Norman 
chronicles, WiUiam usually bears the title of Count (Comes), but in 
this tale he will be generally called Duke, as a title more familiar to 
us. — [L.] 

Nuncius (p. 55). 

An ambassador of the first rank representing the pope at the court 
of a sovereign.— [L.] 


Oaths (p. 302). 

See the judicious remarks of Henry, Hist, of Britain, on this 
head. From the lavish abuse of oaths, perjury had come to be 
reckoned one of the national vices of the Saxon.— [L.] 

Odin (p. 16). 

The name of this god is spelt Odin, when referred to as the object 
of Scandinavian worship ; Woden when applied directly to the deity 
of the Saxons. — [L.] 

f 


Ixxiv 


HAROLD 

Odo of Bayeux (p. 250). 

Odo’s licentiousness was, at a later period, one of the alleged causes 
of his downfall, or rather against his release from the prison to which 
he had been consigned. He had a son named John, who distinguished 
himself under Henry i. — Ord. Vital., lib. iv. — [L.] 

OUCHE (p. 7). 

Ouch, or nouche, a jewel : — 

A coroun on hir heed they han i-dressed, 

And set hir ful of nowches gret and small. 

Chaucer’s Gierke's Tale. 

Mr. Tyrwhitt, in his Glossary to Chaucer, considers nouche the true 
word, and ouch a corruption. He says it is so written in the in- 
ventory of the effects of Henry v., Eot. Pari. 2 H. vi. n. 31 : ‘Item, 
6 broches et nouches d’or garnis de divers garnades pois 31d., d’or pris 
35s.’ — [Fairholt, Costume in England.'] 

Organs in Churches (p. 322). 

Introduced into our Churches in the ninth century. — [L.] 

Palmer (p. 173). 

Properly, a pilgrim who had visited the Holy Land, from the palm 
or cross which he bore as a sign of such visitation ; but Chaucer 
seems to consider all pilgrims to foreign parts as palmers, and the 
distinction was never much attended to in this country. — [Halliwell, 
Diet.] 

Pardex (p. 32). 

Pardi, corresponding to the modern French expletive pardie . — 
[L.] 

Penmaen-mawr (p. 196). 

In Camden’s Britannia there is an account of the remarkable 
relics assigned, in the text, to the last refuge of Gryff^'th ap 
Llewellyn, taken from a manuscript by Sir John Wynne in the 
time of Charles i. In this account are minutely described, ‘ ruinous 
walls of an exceeding strong fortification, compassed with a treble 
wall, and, within each wall, the foundations of at least one hundred 
towers, about six yards in diameter within the walls. This castle 
seems (while it stood) impregnable ; there being no way to offer 
any assault on it, the hill being so very high, steep, and rocky, and 
the walls of such strength, — the way or entrance into it ascending 
with many turnings, so that one hundred men might defend them- 
selves against a whole legion ; and yet it should seem that there 
were lodgings within those walls for twenty thousand men. 

‘By the tradition we receive from our ancestors, this was the 
strongest refuge, or place of defence, that the ancient Britons had 
in all Snowdon; moreover, the greatness of the work shows that 
it was a princely fortification, strengthened by nature and work- 
manshij).’ — Camden, Caernarvonshire. 


GLOSSARY AND NOTES 


Ixxv 


But in the year 1771, Governor Pownall ascended Peninaen-mawr, 
inspected these remains, and published his account in the Archceo- 
logia, vol. iii. p. 303, with a sketch both of the mount and the walls 
at the summit. The Governor is of opinion that it never was a 
fortification. He thinks that the inward inclosure contained a earn 
(or arch-Druid’s sepulchre), that there is not room for any lodgment, 
that the walls are not of a kind which can form a cover, and give at 
the same time the advantage of fighting from them ; in short, that 
the place was one of the Druids’ consecrated high places of worship. 
He adds, however, that ‘ Mr. Pennant has gone twice over it, intends 
to make an actual survey,’ and anticipates much from ‘that great 
antiquary’s knowledge and accuracy.’ 

AVe turn next to Mr. Pennant, and we find him giving a fiat con- 
tradiction to the Governor. ‘I have more than once,’ says he, 

‘ visited this noted rock, to view the fortifications described by the 
editor of Camden, from some notes of that sensible old baronet, Sir 
John AVynne of Gwidir, aiid have found his account very just. 

‘ The fronts of three, if not four walls, presented themselves very 
distinctly one above the other. I measured the height of one wall, 
which was at the time nine feet, the thickness seven feet and a half.’ 
(Now, Governor Pownall also measured the walls, agrees pretty well 
with Pennant as to their width, but makes them only five feet high. ) 
‘ Between these walls, in all parts, were innumerable small buildings, 
mostly circular. These had been much higher, as is evident from the 
fall of stones which lie scattered at their bottoms, and probably had 
once the form of towers, as Sir John asserts. Their diameter is, in 
general, from twelve to eighteen feet (ample room here for lodgment) ; 
the walls were in certain places intersected with others equally strong. 
This stronghold of the Britons is exactly of the same kind with those 
on Cam Madryn, Cam Boduan, and Tre’r Caer. 

‘ This was most judiciously chosen to cover the passage into Angle- 
sea and the remoter part of their country ; and must, from its vast 
strength, have been invulnerable, except by famine ; being inacces- 
sible by its natural steepness towards the sea, and on the parts 
fortified in the manner described.’ — Pennant’s Wales, vol. ii. p. 146. 
So far. Pennant versus Pownall ! ‘ AVho shall decide when doctors 

disagree?’ The opinion of both these antiquaries is liable to 
demur. Governor Pownall might probably be a better judge of 
military defences than Pennant ; but he evidently forms his notions 
of defence with imperfect knowledge of the forts, which would 
have amply sufficed for the warfare of the ancient Britons; and 
moreover, he was one of those led astray by Bryant’s crotchets as 
to ‘High places,’ etc. AYhat appears most probable is, that the 
place was both earn and fort ; that the strength of the place, and 
the convenience of stones, suggested the surrounding the narrow 
area of the central sepulchre with walls, intended for refuge and 
defence. As to the circular buildings, which seem to have puzzled 
these antiquaries, it is strange that they appear to have over- 
looked the accounts which serve best to explain them. Strabo says 
that ‘the houses of the Britons were round, with a high pointed 
covering ’ ; C^sar says that they were only lighted by the door ; in the 
Antonine Column they are represented as circular, with an arched 
entrance, single or double. They were always small, and seem to 
have contained but a single room. These circular buildings were 
not, therefore, necessarily Druidical cells, as has been supposed ; nor 
perhaps actual towers, as contended for by Sir John AVynne; but 


Ixxvi 


HAROLD 


habitations, after the usual fashion of British houses, for the inmates 
or garrison of the enclosure. Taking into account the traditions of 
the spot mentioned by Sir John Wynne and other traditions still 
existing, which mark, in the immediate neighbourhood, the scenes of 
legendary battles, it is hoped that the reader will accept the descrip- 
tion in the text as suggesting, amidst conflicting authorities, the most 
probable supposition of the nature and character of these very in- 
teresting remains in the eleventh century, and during the most 
memorable invasion of Wales (under Harold) which occurred be- 
tween the time of Geraint, or Arthur, and that of Henry ii. The 
ruins still extant are much diminished since the time even of Pownall 
or Pennant ; and must be indeed inconsiderable, compared with the 
buildings or walls which existed at the date of my tale. — [L.] 

Pennon (p. 94). 

A small-pointed flag or streamer formerly carried by knights 
attached to their spear or lance, and generally bearing a badge or 
device ; a pennant. (Fr. pennon, from L. penna, a feather, a 
plume. ) 

Phcenix, The Lay of the (p. 281). 

This ancient Saxon lay, apparently of the date of the tenth or 
eleventh century, may be found, admirably translated by ]\Ir. 
George Stephens, in the Archceolorfia, vol. xxx. p. 259. In the 
text the poem is much abridged, reduced into rhythm, and in some 
stanzas wholly altered from the original. But it is, nevertheless, 
greatly indebted to Mr. Stephen’s translation, from which several 
lines are borrowed verbatim. The more careful reader will note the 
great aid given to a rhymeless metre by alliteration. I am not sure 
that this old Saxon mode of verse might not be profitably restored to 
our national muse. — [L.] 


Priests (p. 175). 

The Saxon priests were strictly forbidden to bear arms. — [Spelm. 
Concil. p. 238.] It is mentioned in the English Chronicles, as a very 
extraordinary circumstance, that a Bishop of Hereford, who had 
been Harold’s chaplain, did actually take sword and shield against 
the Welch. Unluckily, this valiant prelate was slain so soon, that 
it was no encouraging example. — [L.] 

Prime, Hour of (p. 266). 

Six o’clock, A.M. — [L.] 

Proceres (p. 54). 

Chiefs, nobles. 

Queen (p. 107). 

The title of Queen is employed in these pages, as one which our 
historians have unhesitatingly given to the consorts of our Saxon 
kings ; but the usual and correct designation of Edward’s royal wife, 
in her own time, would be, Edith the Lady.— [L.] 

Quen (p. 33). 

Quen, or rather Quens ; synonymous with Count in the Norman 
Chronicles. Earl Godwin is strangely styled by Wace, Quens Gwine. 


GLOSSARY AND NOTES 


Ixxvii 


Rak (p. 141). 

Ran or Rana, wife of j3Egir, and a more malignant character, 
who caused shipwrecks, and drew to herself, by a net, all that fell 
into the sea. The offspring of this marriage were nine daughters, 
who became the Billows, the Currents, and the Storms. — [L.] Most 
of the people who drowned were received by Ran. She had a hall 
at the bottom of the sea where they were welcomed and offered seat 
and bed. — Rydberg, Teutonic Mythology, 287. 

Rede (‘reads my rede’) (p. 48). 

Counsel ; advice. ‘ Short rede is good rede.’ Northern Prov. — 
[Halliwell.] 


Reeve and Gerefa (p. 72). 

Gerefa, a companion, an associate, a fellow. A gerefa or reeve 
was appointed by the executive power, and in rank inferior to the 
Earl, or Ealdorman. There was one in every byrig {i.e. town or 
city) ; he was a judicial officer and one ordered to judge according 
to right jiidgment, and the domhoc or hook of judgment. He delivered 
over offenders to punishment and was present at the folcgemot, where 
he was to do justice. He was ordered to convene a gemot every four 
weeks to end lawsuits. He took bail or security in his shire for every 
one to keep the peace ; and if he omitted to take the bail and 
neglected his duty, he lost his office and the king’s friendship, and 
forfeited to him one hundred and twenty shillings. — Turner’s History 
of the Anglo-Saxons, b. viii. chap. vii. p. 225. — [Bosworth, Diet.'] 

Relics (p. 115). 

Agelnoth, Archbishop of Canterbury, gave the Pope 6000 lb. weight 
of silver for the arm of St. Augustine. — Malmesbury.— [L.] 

Religion (p. 39). 

Pious severity to the heterodox was a Norman virtue. 'William 
of Poitiers says of WiUiam, ‘ One knows with what zeal he pursued 
and exterminated those who thought differently ’ ; i.e. on transub- 
stantiation. But the wise Norman, while flattering the tastes of the 
"Roman Pontiff in such matters, took special care to preserve the 
independence of his Church from any undue dictation.— [L.] 

Reliquaire (reliquary) (p. 268). 

A portable shrine or case for relics of saints or martyrs. — [Fair- 
holt, p. 370.] 

Rib (p. 178). 

A wife. — [Halliwell.] 

Richard, son of Scrob (p. 77). 

Yet how little safe it is for the great to despise the low-born ! 
This very Richard, son of Scrob, more euphoniously styled by the 
Normans Richard Fitz-Scrob, settled in Herefordshire (he was pro- 
bably among the retainers of Earl Rolf), and on William’s landing. 


Ixxviii 


HAROLD 


became the chief and most active supporter of the invader in those 
districts. The sentence of banishment seems to have been mainly 
confined to the foreigners about the Court — for it is clear that many 
Norman landowners and priests were still left scattered throughout 
the country. — [L.] 


Ring-mail (p. 57). 

Is composed of small rings of steel, sewed edgeways upon a strong 
garment of leather or quilted cloth. Differs from chain-mail in the 
rings of the latter being interlaced with each other, and strongly 
fastened with rivets. — [Fairholt, Diet, of Terms, p. 372.] 

Roman de Ron (p. 385). 

A chronicle of the Dukes of Normandy, written as a Norman 
French poem of the twelfth century by Master Wace, a native of 
Jersey, whose Christian name is unknown. He lived and wrote as 
late as the year 1173, yet from incidental notices in the work, it 
appears that he had gathered much of his information from eye- 
witnesses. Modern editions are, Edgar Taylor’s, published in 1837 ; 
and Sir Alexander Malet’s, published in 1860. 

Rood Lane, London (p. 24). 

Rude Lane. — [L.] From Bagford’s Letter to Hearne. 

Rou (pp. 36, 37). 

The name given by the French to Rollo or Rolf-ganger, the founder 
of the Norman Settlement. — [L.] 

Rowena (p. 200). 

Rowena was the sister of Hengist and Horsa, the first Saxon chiefs 
who landed in England, and became the wife of the British chief 
Vortigern. The story is told in Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Chronicle, 
lib. vi. cap. 12. 

Runes (p. 17). 

One of a particular set of alphabetical characters peculiar to the 
ancient northern nations of Europe, all the runes being formed 
almost entirely of straight lines, either single or in composition. 
Anglo-Saxon riin, a rune, a mysterious or magical character, a 
mystery, a whisper ; from root meaning to whisper, as in L. rumor, 
a rumour. Dr. George Stephens’s work on The Old Northern Runic 
Monuments of Scandinavia and England, Copenhagen 1888, 2 vols., 
fob, is the authority on this subject. 

S^x (pp. 3, 83). 

It is a disputed question whether the saex of the earliest Saxon in- 
vaders was a long or short curved weapon, — nay, whether it was 
curved or straight ; but the author sides with those who contend that 
it was a short, crooked weapon, easily concealed by a cloak, and 
similar to those depicted on the banner of the east Saxons. — [L.] 

‘ The third variety of the Anglo-Saxon sword, the seax, which ]\Ir. 



ANGLO SAXON WEAPONS 

[Fairholt’s Costume in England, vol. i. p. 37] 

I, 2. Swords 

3. Seax, or short knife 

4, 5. Spear heads 

6. Umbones or central metal projections of the shield 







■#' 


It V ►. 


i* 



m 




< > 


..<• 


I 


^ Fk 



« 





a»»T, '/ft -vl ■■ ■ * * 

V- *■ ' ' ’*'■' ■• ** ' i-’-’K ■' 

■ H ' ^■,1Vr''>.:' a^ ' . 

^ - ' v1^ 

• .»i.4* 


■* ■ 
-, ■ 





- ys'* 




'Jf 'tvtfi*' vvr ('■ 

>*• 1*11? - ■ » 


^| 



. t-r 


VW jf ■ 





t ar 






> • 










j'l* V 1 

?ji 

. V' 'vf. 0". , ^ 



.«. «* 


V 




« « 


V 



vu 


4:. A>2k 

i.-. k >N 


/•V 


V 


'<’Mkbu 



GLOSSARY AND NOTES 


Ixxix 


Kemble defines to be ensis quidam curvatus, is apparently that old 
Thracian weapon, the sica, which among the Romans was in such 
little repute, that sicarius came to mean a bandit, or an assassin. 
The Anglo-Saxon curved sword never appears in their book paintings 
and has not been found in their graves. But in the Copenhagen 
Museum is a weapon which seems exactly to answer the description of 
the Northern ssex. It is engraved in Mr. Worsaae’s Illustrations of 
the Copenhagen Museum^ p. 97, fig. 384. — [Hewitt, Anct. Arm.'] 

Satraps (pp. 119, 290). 

The Eastern word Satraps {Satrapes) made one of the ordinary and 
most inappropriate titles (borrowed, no doubt, from the Byzantine 
Court), % which the Saxons, in their Latinity, honoured their 
simple nobles. — [L.] 

Saxons (p. 41). 

It might be easy to show, were this the place, that though the 
Saxons never lost their love of liberty, yet the victories which 
gradually regained the liberty from the gripe of the Anglo-Norman 
kings were achieved by the Anglo-Norman aristocracy. And even to 
this day, the few rare descendants of that race (whatever their 
political faction) will generally exhibit that impatience of despotic 
influence, and that disdain of corruption, which characterise the 
homely bonders of Norway, in whom we may still recognise the 
sturdy likeness of their fathers ; while it is also remarkable that the 
modern inhabitants of those portions of the kingdom originally 
peopled by their kindred Danes are, irrespective of mere party 
divisions, noted for their intolerance of all oppression, and their 
resolute independence of character ; to wit, Yorkshire, Norfolk, 
Cumberland, and large districts in the Scottish lowlands. — [L.] 

Scald (p. 138). 

An ancient Scandinavian poet, whose occupation was to compose 
poems in honour of distinguished men, and to recite and sing them 
on jmblic occasions. The scalds were considered as necessary appen- 
dages to royalty, and even the inferior chieftains had their poets to 
record their actions and indulge their vanity. — [Strutt, Sp. and 1\ 
p. 171.] Icel. sMld, Sw. skald. 

Scandinavians (p. 332). 

‘It is a singular circumstance, that in almost all the swords of 
those ages to be found in the collection of weapons at the Antiquarian 
Museum at Copenhagen, the handles indicate a size of hand very 
much smaller than the hands of modern people of any class or rank. 
No modern dandy, with the most delicate hands, would find room 
for his hand to grasp or wield with ease some of the swords of these 
Northmen.’— [Laing^s Note to Snorro Sturleson, vol. iii. p. 101.] 
The Norman retained perhaps longer than the Scandinavian, from 
whom he sprang, the somewhat effeminate peculiarity of small hands 
and feet ; and hence, as throughout all the nobility of Europe the 
Norman was the model of imitation, and the ruling families in 
many lands sought to trace from him their descents, so that 
characteristic is, even to our day, ridiculously regarded as a sign 


Ixxx 


HAROLD 


of noble race. The Norman probably retained that peculiarity 
longer than the Dane, because his habits, as a conqueror, made him 
disdain all manual labour ; and it was below his knightly dignity to 
walk, as long as horse could be found for him to ride. But the 
Anglo-Norman (the noblest specimen of the great conquering family) 
became so blent with the Saxon, both in blood and in habits, that 
such physical distinctions vanished with the age of chivalry. The 
Saxon blood in our highest aristocracy now predominates greatly 
over the Norman ; and it would be as vain a task to identify the sons 
of Hastings and Hollo by the foot and hand of the old Asiatic 
Scythian, as by the reddish auburn hair and the high features which 
were no less ordinarily their type. Here and there such peculiarities 
may all be seen amongst plain country gentlemen, settled from time 
immemorial in the counties peopled by the Anglo-Danes, and inter- 
marrying generally in their own jirovincesj but amongst the far 
more mixed breed of the larger landed proprietors comprehended in . 
the Peerage, the Saxon attributes of race are strikingly conspicuous, 
and, amongst them, the large hand and foot common with all the 
Germanic tribes. — [L.] 


SCIN LiECA (p. 79). 

Literally, a shining corpse ; a species of apparition invoked by the 
witch or wizard. See Sharon Turner on the Superstitions of the 
Anglo-Saxons, b. ii. c. 14. — [L.] 

Scops (p. 150). 

A poet, minstrel. — [Bosworth.J Icel. seop. 


Scotland Yard, London (p. 25). 

Site of the palace set apart for the kings of Scotland. — [L.] From 
Strype. 

Seigneurie (p. 34). 

Seignorie, power; dominion, lordship (A. -S.)—[Halli well.] 


Seneschal (p. 30). 

An officer in the houses of princes and dignitaries, who has the 
superintendence of feasts and domestic ceremonies ; a steward. 

Senlac (p. 370). 

The battlefield of Hastings seems to have been called Senlac before 
the Conquest, Senguelac after it.— [L.] There is, however, consider- 
able doubt as to this. — See Round, Feudal England. 


SiBBE (p. 12). 

Related ; allied. Syh, or syhbe, is an ancient Saxon word, signi- 
fying kindred, alliance, affinity. Ray’s Words, ed. 1674, p. 40.— 
[Halil well, Dict.^ ^ 



THE SPOT AT BATTLE ABBEY WHERE HAROLD DIED 






* 




* 




> 0 

ft* 


^ **- >P 1 



Jt^J 


4 ^ 


|*Ht • 


j *1 


-- 


I '<T^■ 


*>v ■ •^?''’ wfil 

■ t« ir “"^- 



» * % ir 




vr 


V; 




‘■« .itv 


i> 


%4>*' * 

j.v.nj . - 


;;f;^ vTw ■*'■' 

•i- Mt’ 

■ ' >i<m ■ 


u 


^ T' 


V ^ ^ C * 


» % 


» » 


-• \v 



tn- |fc «(, • -''r- f i. . ^ .;yi ,.; 

I ? a "A * » .V *>.* *>4 M ‘ • 

r^j| 

:f , .. 






. \ 


.,..-A '-tf 


I ’5*1 

ft.'i ■» ■•- 1 ^— , 

i '"'ll* 

V > iV 


j-' 


i-1 


/%>* 


'^jT- -■ ' i ’■ • } 

^.! '. •' " . ?f 5 - 

? - I -- -.' i ■ * 




V. 


■ i 



' V 


■ * ■■ 


't ► '*‘ ’''■ 


, '- j wy /. 

^ - - ^ "V 

k> V ' J / J ■ 


/. 




m 


r '''i| -^-r >,*• . >*t^: JpV';, ‘'P4' >•; 

’^••S^ A'l •: " * i** * * ‘ » 




■^f' i 




4. 




L ■* 

r »* 


«**'v 





j?' ^ 




S'- 


^r, 


V*. 



•v.' 







Ixxxi 


GLOSSARY AND NOTES 

SlXH^NDMAN (p. 21). 

Six-hund man. A man whose life was valued at six hundred 
shillings. — [Bosworth. ] 


SlWAKD (p. 48). 

Si ward was almost a giant {pene gigas statura). There are some 
curious anecdotes of this hero, immortalised by Shakespeare, in the 
Brortiton Chronicle. His grandfather is said to have been a bear, 
who fell in love with a Danish lady ; and his father, Beorn, retained 
some of the traces of the parental physiognomy in a pair of pointed 
ears. The origin of this fable seems evident. His grandfather was 
a Berserker : for whether that name be derived, as is more generally 
supposed, from bare-sark, — or rather from bear-sark, that is, whether 
this grisly specimen of the Viking genus fought in his shirt or his 
bearskin, the name equally lends itself to those mystifications from 
which half the old legends, whether of Greece or Norway, are 
derived. — [L.] 


Skulda (p. 5). 

The Norna or Fate that presided over the future. — [L.] 


Slavery (p. 148). 

William of Malmesbury speaks with just indignation of the Anglo- 
Saxon custom of selling female servants, either to public prostitution, 
or foreign slavery. — [L.] 


Slingers (p. 393). 

Sling, an offensive weapon, used by soldiery in ancient times, for 
casting stones, pellets of lead, etc., at enemies, by which they 
frequently did fatal execution. It has been discarded in European 
warfare since the end of the fourteenth century. — [Fairholt.] 

SOUTHWEORC (p. 119). 

Southwark, on the south side of the Thames, near London Bridge. 
This is a very ancient part of London. 

Spear (p. 100). 

The spear and the hawk were as the badges of Saxon nobility ; and 
a thegn was seldom seen abroad without the one on his left wrist, the 
other in his right hand. — [L.] 


Stigand (p. 66). 

Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, a.d. 1043. ‘Stigand was deposed from 
his bishopric, and all that he possessed was seized into the king’s 
hands, because he was received to his mother’s counsel, and she went 
just as he advised her, as people thought.’ The saintly Confessor 
dealt with his bishops as summarily as Henry viii. could have done, 
after his quarrel with the Pope. — [L.] 


Ixxxii 


HAROLD 


Stoup (p. 114). 

A small niche with a basin at the entrance of Roman Catholic 
churches for the purpose of holding the holy water. 

Sumpter Mules (p. 167). 

Sumpter^ generally united .with horse, to signify a horse that 
carried provisions or other necessaries. — [Nares, Dict.^ 

SWEYN. 

Sweyn was Earl of the lands now including Oxford, Somerset, 
Berks, Gloucester, and Hereford. — [L.] 

SWIKEBODE (p. 380). 

Traitor messenger. 

Tattooing (p. 414). 

The suggestions implied in the text will probably be admitted as 
correct ; when we read in the Saxon annals of the recognition of the 
dead by peculiar marks on their bodies, the obvious, or at least the 
most natural explanation of these signs is to be found in the habit 
of puncturing the skin, mentioned by the Malmesbury chronicler. — 
[L.] I think, however, that the ruder system of tattooing was in 
vogue. — Ed. 

Thegn (p. 380). 

A thegn or thane. Originally a servant, then a person who 
becomes noble by service of a superior. The thegn before the 
Conquest occupied nearly the same position socially as the knight 
did after it. — [Stubbs, Select CTiarters.J 

Third Watch (p. 266). 

Twelve o’clock, midnight. 

Thorney Isle (p. 26). 

The site of the present Westminster Abbey and surroundings. In 
the eighth century the greater part of this area was a tidal estuarj' 
covered twice a day by the Thames. In the midst of this rose a slight 
eminence, the Tothill, preserved to this day in the name Tothill 
Street, upon which the old road, the Watling Street, ran to the 
water’s edge. In a charter of Offa, a.d. 785, the place is alluded to 
locus terribilis, but ‘ terribilis ’ bore the significance of sacred. See 
Loftie’s History of Loudon, ii. 33, and Contemporary Revicto for 
November 1895 on ‘London as the Capital of the Empire,’ by G. L. 
Gomme. 

The first bridge that connected Thorney Isle with the mainland is 
said to have been built by Matilda, wife of Henry i. — [L.] 

Thyra (p. 87). 

First wife of Godwin, was of a very unpopular repute with the 
Saxons. She was accused of sending young English persons as slaves 
into Denmark, and is said to have been killed by lightning.— [L.] 


GLOSSARY AND NOTES 


Ixxxiii 


Torques (p. 70). 

A personal ornament, consisting of a stiff collar, formed of a 
number of gold wires twisted together, or of a thin twisted metal 
plate, worn round the neck as a symbol of rank by certain ancient 
nations, as by the ancient Britons, Gauls, and Germans. From 
L. torques, a twisted neck-chain, from torqueo, to twist. 

Tower op London (p. 24). 

There seems good reason for believing that a keep did stand where 
the Tower stands, before the Conquest, and that William’s edifice 
spared some of its remains. In the very interesting letter from John 
Bagford relating to the city of London {Lei. Collect. Iviii. ), the writer, 
a thorough master of his subject, states that ‘the Romans made a 
public military way, that of AYatling Street, from the Tower to 
Ludgate, in a straight line, at the end of which they built stations or 
citadels, one of which was where the White Tower now stands.’ 
Bagford adds that ‘when the White Tower was fitted up for the 
reception of records, there remained many Saxon inscriptions.’ — [L.] 

Triple Trefoil (p. 54). 

Fleur-de-lis, which seems to have been a common form of orna- 
ment with the Saxon kings.— [L.] 

True Lopa (p. 150). 

Trulofa, from which comes our popular corruption ‘true lover’s 
knot’; d veteri Danico trulofa, i.e. fidem, do, to pledge faith. — 
Hickes’s Thesaur. ‘A knot, among the ancient northern nations, 
seems to have been the emblem of love, faith, and friendship.’ — 
Brand’s Pop. Antiq. — [L.] 

Unguents (p. 172). 

Lord Bacon, speaking of the ointments used by the witches, sup- 
poses that they really did produce illusions by stopping the vapours 
and sending them to the head. It seems that all witches who 
attended the sabbat used these unguents, and there is something very 
remarkable in the concurrence of their testimonies as to the scenes 
they declared themselves to have witnessed, not in the body, which 
they left behind, but as present in the soul ; as if the same anoint- 
ments and preparatives produced dreams nearly similar in kind. To 
the believers in mesmerism I may add, that few are aware of the 
extraordinary degree to which somnambulism appears to be heightened 
by certain chemical aids ; and the disbelievers in that agency, who 
have yet tried the experiments of some of those now neglected drugs 
to which the medical art of the Middle Ages attached peculiar 
virtues, will not be inclined to dispute the powerful, and, as it were, 
systematic effect which certain drugs produce on the imagination of 
patients with excitable and nervous temperaments. — [L.] 

V^RINGERS (p. 331). 

The Vseringers, or Varangi, mostly Northmen; this redoubtable 
force, the Janissaries of the Byzantine empire, afforded brilliant field. 


Ixxxiv 


HAROLD 


both of fortune and war, to the discontented spirits, or outlawed 
heroes of the North. It was joined afterwards by many of the 
bravest and best born of the Saxon nobles, refusing to dwell under 
the yoke of the Norman. Scott, in Count Robert of Paris, which, if 
not one of his best romances, is yet full of truth and beauty, has 
described this renowned band with much poetical vigour and 
historical fidelity.— [L.] 


Vavasoubs. 

A principal vassal not holding immediately of the sovereign but of 
a great lord, and having himself vassals. 


Villeins (p. 261). 

A feudal serf ; a man of the lowest grade in feudal times. See 
Mr. Wright’s very interesting article on the ‘ Condition of the English 
Peasantry,’ etc., Archceologia, vol. xxx. pp. 205-244. I must, how- 
ever, observe, that one very important fact seems to have been 
generally overlooked by all inquirers, or, at least, not sufficiently 
enforced, viz., that it was the Norman’s contempt for the general 
mass of the subject population which, more perhaps than any other 
cause, broke up positive slavery in England. Thus the Norman very 
soon lost sight of that distinction the Anglo-Saxons had made between 
the agricultural ceorl and the theowe; i.e, between the serf of the 
soil and the personal slave. Hence these classes became fused in 
each other, and were gradually emancipated by the same circum- 
stances. This, be it remarked, could never have taken place under 
the Anglo-Saxon laws, which kept constantly feeding the class of 
slaves by adding to it convicted felons and their children. The 
subject population became too necessary to the Norman barons, in 
their feuds with each other, or their king, to be long oppressed ; and, 
in the time of Froissart, that worthy chronicler ascribes the in- 
solence, or high spirit, of le menu peuple to their grand aise et abon- 
dance de biens. — [L.] 

Vineyards in England (p. 25). 

The question whether or not real vineyards were grown, or real 
wine made from them, in England has been a very vexed question 
among the antiquaries. But it is scarcely possible to read Pegge’s 
dispute with Dailies Barrington in the Archesologia without deciding 
both questions in the affirmative. — See Archceol. vol. iii. p. 53. An 
engraving of the Saxon winepress is given in Strutt’s Horda. Vine- 
yards fell into disuse, either by treaty with France, or Gascony 
falling into the hands of the English. But vineyards were cultivated 
by private gentlemen as late as 1621. Our first wines from Bordeaux 
— the true country of Bacchus — appear to have been imported about 
1154, by the marriage of Henry ii. with Eleanor of Aquitaine. — [L.] 


VOBTIMEB (p. 200). 

The son of Vortigern. Unlike his father, he fought against the 
Saxon invaders and drove them back into Thanet. — [Nennius, Histori/, 
§ 43.] 


GLOSSARY AND NOTES 


Ixxxv 


Wales (p. 192). 

Certain high places in Wales, of which this might well be one, were 
held so sacred, that even the dwellers in the immediate neighbour- 
hood never presumed to approach them. — [L.] 

War Cries (p. 187). 

When (a.d. 220) the Bishops, Germanicus and Lupus, headed the 
Britons against the Piets and Saxons, in Easter week, fresh from their 
baptism in the Alyn, Germanicus ordered them to attend to his war 
cry, and repeat it ; he gave ‘Alleluia.’ The hills so loudly re-echoed 
the cry, that the enemy caught panic, and fled with great slaughter. 
Maes Garmon, in Flintshire, was the scene of the victory. 

The cry of the English at the onset of battle was ‘ Holy Crosse, 
God Almighty’; afterwards in fight, ‘Ouct, ouct,’ out, out. — 
Hearne’s Antiquity of Motts. The latter cry, probably, origi- 
nated in the habit of defending their standard and central posts with 
barricades and closed shields ; and thus, idiomatically and vulgarly, 
signified ‘get out.’ — [L.] 

AVar Fyrd (p. 278). 

Fyrd, feord, f. (Ger. Fahrt, f., an expedition.) — [Bosworth.] 

AVas H^l (p. 149). 

A\’’assail. From the A.-S. wees heel, be in health. It was anciently 
the pledge word in drinking, equivalent to the modern Your health. 
The term in later times was applied to any festivity or intemperance ; 
and the wassail-bowl still appears at Christmas in some parts of the 
country. The liquor terified wassail in the provinces is made of 
apples, sugar, and ale. — [Halliwell.] 

AVelch (p. 200). 

AVere then and still are remarkable for the beauty of their teeth. 
Giraldus Cambrensis observes as something very extraordinary that 
they cleaned them. — [L.] 

s AVelkin (p. 101). 

The sky ; from weedcon, to roll, or welc, a cloud, Saxon. — [Nares, 
Glossary. \ 

AYeregeld (p. 21). 

The pecuniary estimation of a man by which the value of his oath 
and the penalty of killing him were determined. — [Stubbs, Select 
Charters. \ Anglo-Saxon iver, man, and geld, a payment. 

AA^estminster (p. 30). 

A church was built out of the ruins of the temple of Apollo by 
Sibert, King of the East Saxons; and Canute favoured much the 
small monastery attached to it (originally established by Dunstan 
for twelve Benedictines), on accoimt of its Abbot Wulnot, whose 
society pleased him. The old palace of Canute, in Thorney Isle, 
had been destroyed by fire. — [L. | 


Ixxxvi 


HAROLD 

Weyd Month (p. 147). 

Meadow month — J une. 

■NVicca (p. 2). 

TFtcce, f., a witch. — [Bosworth.] 

WiNDSHORE — W indsor (p. 133). ' 

Some authorities state Winchester as the scene of these memorable 
festivities. Old AVindsor Castle is supposed by Mr. Lysons to have 
occupied the site of a farm of Mr. Isherwood’s surrounded by a moat, 
about two miles distant from New AVindsor. He conjectures that it 
was still occasionally inhabited by the Norman kings till 1110. The 
ville surrounding it only contained ninety-five houses, paying gabel- 
tax, in the Norman survey.— [L.] 

AVilliam the Conqueror. 

There are various accounts in the Chroniclers as to the stature of 
AVilliam the First ; some represent him as a giant, others as of just 
or middle height. Considering the vulgar inclination to attribute to 
a hero’s stature the qualities of the mind (and putting out of all 
question the arguments that rest on the pretended size of the dis- 
buried bones — for which the authorities are really less respectable 
than those on which we are called upon to believe that the skeleton 
of the mythical Gawaine measured eight feet), we prefer that sup- 
position, as to the physical proportions, which is most in harmony 
with the usual laws of Nature. It is rare, indeed, that a great 
intellect is found in the form of a giant. — [L.] 

Robert of Gloucester says pithily of AVilliam, ‘ Kyng AVylliam was 
to mild men debonnere ynou.’ — Hearne, v. ii. p. 300. — [L.j 

Most of the chroniclers merely state the parentage within the 
forbidden degrees as the obstacle to AVilliam’s marriage to Matilda ; 
but the betrothal or rather nuptials of her mother Adele with 
Richard iii. of Normandy (though never consummated), appears to 
have been the true canonical objection. Nevertheless, Matilda’s 
mother Adele stood in the relation of aunt to AVilliam, as widow 
of his father’s elder brother, ‘an affinity,’ as is observed by a writer 
in the Archceologia, ‘quite near enough to account for, if not to 
justify, the interference of the Church. —A refe. vol. xxxii. p. 109. — 
[L.] Mr. Freeman discusses the subject of the marriage of AVilliam 
and Matilda in Appendix O, Hist, of Norm. Conq.^ vol. iii. 

AVitan (p. 69). 

AVitenagemot, the assembly of the wise, the national assembly. 
Lytton borrows his account from Palgrave’s History of the Anglo- 
Saxons, acknowledging his authority in a footnote ‘Palgrave omits, 
I presume accidentally, these members of the AVitan, but it is clear 
from the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle that the London “lithsmen” were 
represented in the Great National AVitans, and helped to decide the 
election even of kings.’ — [L.] By Athelstan’s law, every man was to 
have peace going to and from the AVitan, unless he were a thief.— 
AVilkins, p. 157. -[L.] 

AVitch (p. 345). 

Does any Scandinavian scholar know why the trough was so 
associated with the images of Scandinavian witchcraft ? A witch was 


GLOSSARY AND NOTES 


Ixxxvii 


known, when seen behind, by a kind of trough-like shape; there 
must be some symbol, of very ancient mythology, in this super- 
stition !— [L.] This query does not seem to have been answered, in 
spite of the vast amount of labour spent upon investigations into 
folklore since Lytton’s time. 

■\VoDE (p. 147). 

Anglo-Saxon, Mad; furious.— [Halliwell, Diet.'] 

Wolf-Month (p. 232). 

January. — Wyn-Month, October. 

Wyn-Month (p. 323). 

The month of the vine, October. — [L.] 

Ygg-Drasill (p. 230). 

Much learning has been employed by Scandinavian scholars in 
illustrating the symbols supposed to be couched under the myth of 
the Ygg-drasill, or the great Ash-tree. AVith this I shall not weary 
the reader ; especially since large systems have been built on very 
small premises, and the erudition employed has been equally ingeni- 
ous and unsatisfactory : I content myself with stating the simple 
myth. The Ygg-drasill has three roots ; two spring from the infernal 
regions — i.e. from the home of the frost-giants, and from Niffl-heim, 
‘ vapour-home, or hell ’ — one from the heavenly abode of the Asas. 
Its branches, says the Prose Edda, extend over the whole universe, 
and its stem bears up the earth. Beneath the root, which stretches 
through Niffl-heim, and which the snake-king continually gnaws, is 
the fount whence flow the infernal rivers. Beneath the root, which 
stretches in the land of the giants, is Mimir’s well wherein all 
wisdom is concealed ; but under the root which lies in the land of 
the gods, is the well of Urda, the Norna — here the gods sit in 
judgment. Near this well is a fair building, whence issue the three 
maidens, Urda, Verdandi, Skulda (the Past, the Present, the Future). 
Daily they water the ash-tree from Urda’s well, that the branches 
may not perish. Four harts constantly devour the buds and branches 
of the Ash-tree. On its boughs sits an eagle, wise in much ; and 
between its eyes sits a hawk. A squirrel runs up and down the tree 
sowing strife between the eagle and the snake. Such, in brief, is 
the account of the myth. For the various interpretations of its 
symbolic meaning the general reader is referred to Mr. Blackwell’s 
edition of Mallet’s Northern Antiquities^ and Pigott’s Scandinavian 
Manual. — [L.] Rydberg’s Teutonic Mythology, Grimm’s Teutonic 
Mythology, and Keary’s Outlines of Primitive Belief ^Yioxxld be con- 
sulted for the latest researches on this myth. 


V 


: I ■ Y . 

I* 


AUTHOR’S DEDICATORY EPISTLE 

TO THE 

RIGHT HON. C. T. D’EYNCOURT, M.P, 

I DEDICATE to you, my dear frieiid_, a work_, principally 
composed under your hospitable roof ; and to the materials 
of which your library, rich in the authorities I most needed, 
largely contributed. 

The idea of founding an historical romance on an event 
so important and so national as the Norman Invasion, I 
had long entertained, and the chronicles of that time had 
long been familiar to me. But it is an old habit of mine 
to linger over the plan and subject of a w'ork, for years, 
perhaps, before the work has, in truth, advanced a sen- 
tence ; ^ busying myself,’ as old Burton saith, ^ with this 
playing labour — otiosdque diligentid lit vitarem torporem 
feriandi.’ 

llie main consideration which long withheld me from 
the task, was in my sense of the unfamiliarity of the 
ordinary reader with the characters, events, and, so to 
speak, with the very physiognomy of a period ante Aga- 
memnona ; before the brilliant age of matured chivalry, 
which has given to song and romance the deeds of the later 
knighthood, and the glorious frenzy of the Crusades. Tlie 
Norman Conquest was our Trojan War ; an epoch beyond 
which our learning seldom induces our imagination to 
ascend. 

In venturing on ground so new to fiction, I saw before 
me the option of apparent pedantry, in the obtrusion of 
such research as might carry the reader along with the 
Author, fairly and truly into the real records of the time ; 
or of throwing aside pretensions to accuracy altogether ; — 
and so rest contented to turn history into flagrant romance, 
rather than pursue my own conception of extracting its 
natural romance from the actual history. Finally, not 
without some encouragement from you (whereof take your 
due share of blame !), I decided to hazard the attempt, 

Ixxxviii 


AUTHOR’S DEDICATORY EPISTLE Ixxxix 


and to adopt that mode of treatment wliich^ if making 
larger demand on the attention of the reader, seemed the 
more complimentary to his judgment. 

llie age itself, once duly examined, is full of those 
elements which should awaken interest, and appeal to the 
imagination. Not untruly has Sismondi said, that ^the 
Eleventh Century has a right to be considered a great age. 
It was a period of life and of creation ; all that there was 
of noble, heroic, and vigorous in the Middle Ages com- 
menced at that epoch. But to us Englishmen in especial, 
besides the more animated interest in that spirit of adventure, 
enterprise, and improvement, of which the Norman chivalry 
was the noblest type, there is an interest more touching and 
deep in those last glimpses of the old Saxon monarchy, 
which open upon us in the mournful pages of our chroniclers. 

I have sought in this work, less to portray mere manners, 
which modern researches have rendered familiar to ordinary 
students in our history, than to bring forward the great 
characters, so carelessly dismissed in the long and loose 
record of centuries ; to show more clearly the motives and 
policy of the agents in an event the most memorable in 
Europe ; and to convey a definite, if general, notion of the 
human beings, whose brains schemed, and whose hearts 
beat, in that realm of shadows which lies behind the 
Norman Conquest ; 

‘ Spes hominum csecas, morbos, votiimque, labores, 

Et passim toto volitantes aethere curas.’^ 

I have thus been faithful to the leading historical inci- 
dents in the grand tragedy of Harold, and as careful as 
contradictory evidences will permit, both as to accuracy in 
the delineation of character, and correctness in that chro- 
nological chain of dates without which there can be no 
historical philosophy ; that is, no tangible link between the 
cause and the effect. The fictitious part of my narrative 
is, as in Rienzi, and the Last of the Barons, confined 
chiefly to the private life, with its domain of incident and 
passion, which is the legitimate appanage of novelist or 
poet. The love story of Harold and Edith is told differently 
from the well-known legend, which implies a less pure 
connection. But the whole legend respecting the Edeva 
faira (Editli the fair), whose name meets us in the ^ Domes- 
day’ roll, rests upon very slight authority considering its 

1 Sismondi’s History of France, vol. iv. p. 484. 

2 ‘ Men’s blinded hopes, diseases, toil, and prayer. 

And winged troubles peopling daily air,’ 


9 


xc 


HAROLD 


popular acceptance ; ^ and the reasons for my alterations 
will be sufficiently obvious in a work intended not only for 
general perusal, but which on many accounts, I hope, may 
be entrusted fearlessly to the young ; while those alterations 
are in strict accordance with the spirit of the time, and 
tend to illustrate one of its most marked peculiarities. 

More apology is perhaps due for the liberal use to which 
I have applied the superstitions of the age. But with 
the age itself those superstitions are so interwoven — they 
meet us so constantly, whether in the pages of our owui 
chroniclers, or the records of the kindred Scandinavians — 
they are so intruded into the very laws, so blended with the 
very life, of our Saxon forefathers, that w ithout employing 
them, in somewhat of the same credulous spirit with which 
they were originally conceived, no vivid impression of the 
People they influenced can be conveyed. Not without 
truth has an Italian writer remarked, ‘ that he who w^ould 
depict philosophically an unphilosophical age, should re- 
member that, to be familiar wdth children, one must some- 
times think and feel as a child.’ 

Yet it has not been my main endeavour to make these 
ghostly agencies conducive to the ordinary poetical purposes 
of terror, and if that effect be at all created by them, it 
will be, 1 apprehend, rather subsidiary to the more historical 
sources of interest than, in itself, a leading or popular 
characteristic of the w^ork. My object, indeed, in the 
introduction of the Danish Vala especially, has been perhaps 
as much addressed to the reason as to the fancy, in showing 
what large, if dim, remains of the ancient ^heathenesse’ 
still kept their ground on the Saxon soil, contending with 
and contrasting the monkish superstitions, by which they 
were ultimately replaced. Hilda is not in history ; but with- 
out the romantic impersonation of that w hich Hilda repre- 
sents, the history of the time would be imperfectly understood. 

In the character of Harold — while I have carefully 
examined and weighed the scanty evidences of its distin- 
guishing attributes wffiich are yet preserved to us — and, in 

1 Merely upon the obscure ms. of the Waltham Monastery ; yet, 
such is the ignorance of popular criticism, that I have been as much 
attacked for the licence I have taken with the legendary connection 
between Harold and Edith, as if that connection were a proven and 
authenticated fact ! again, the pure attachment to which in the 
romance the loves of Edith and Harold are confined, has been 
alleged to be a sort of moral anachronism, — a sentiment wholly 
modern; whereas, on the contrary, an attachment so pure was 
infinitely more common in that day than in this, and made one of 
the most striking characteristics of the eleventh century ; indeed 
of all the earlier ages, in the Christian era, most subjected to 
monastic influences. 


AUTHOR’S DEDICATORY EPISTLE 


xci 


spite of no unnatural partiality, have not concealed what 
appear to me its deficiencies, and still less the great error 
of the life it illustrates, — I have attempted, somewhat and 
slightly, to shadow out the ideal of the pure Saxon character, 
such as it was then, with its large qualities undeveloped, 
but marked already by patient endurance, love of justice, 
and freedom — the manly sense of duty rather than the 
chivalric sentiment of honour — and that indestructible 
element of practical purpose and courageous will, which, 
defying all conquest, and steadfast in all peril, was ordained 
to achieve so vast an influence over the destinies of the world. 

To the Norman Duke, I believe, I have been as lenient 
as justice will permit, though it is as impossible to deny 
his craft as to dispute his genius ; and so far as the scope 
of my work would allow, I trust that I have indicated 
fairly the grand characteristics of his countrymen, more 
truly chivalric than their lord. It has happened, unfortu- 
nately for that illustrious race of men, that they have 
seemed to us, in England, represented by the Anglo- 
Norman kings. The fierce and plotting William, the vain 
and worthless Rufus, the cold-blooded and relentless Henry, 
are no adequate representatives of the far nobler Norman 
vavasours, whom even the English Chronicler admits to 
have been ^ kind masters,’ and to whom, in spite of their 
kings, the after liberties of England were so largely indebted. 
But this work closes on the Field of Hastings ; and in 
that noble struggle for national independence, the sym- 
pathies of every true son of the land, even if tracing his 
lineage back to the Norman victor, must be on the side 
of the patriot Harold. 

In the notes, which I have thought necessary aids to the 
better comprehension of these volumes, my only wish has 
been to convey to the general reader such illustrative infor- 
mation as may familiarise him more easily with the subject- 
matter of the book, or refresh his memory on incidental 
details not without a national interest. In the mere 
references to authorities I do not pretend to arrogate to a 
fiction the proper character of a history ; the references are 
chiefly used either where wishing pointedly to distinguish 
from invention what was borrowed from a chronicle, or, 
when, differing from some popular historian to whom the 
reader might be likely to refer, it seemed well to state the 
authority upon which the difference was founded.^ 

1 Notes less immediately necessary to the context, or too long, not 
to interfere with the current of the narrative are thrown to the end 
of the work. [These are now incorporated in the introduction, or, 
with the footnotes made by the author, are incorporated in the 
glossary. — Ed.] 


XCll 


HAROLD 


111 fact^ my main object has been one that compelled me 
to admit graver matter than is common in romance, but 
which I would fain hope may be saved from the charge 
of dulness by some national sympathy between author and 
reader ; my object is attained, and attained only, if, in 
closing the last page of this work, the reader shall find, 
that in spite of the fictitious materials admitted, he has 
formed a clearer and more intimate acquaintance with a 
time, heroic though remote, and characters which ought to 
have a household interest to Englishmen, than the succinct 
accounts of the mere historian could possibly afford him. 

Thus, my dear D’Eyncourt, under cover of an address to 
yourself, have I made to the Public those explanations 
which authors in general (and I not the least so), are often 
over-anxious to render. 

This task done, my thoughts naturally fly back to the 
associations I connected with your name when I placed it 
at the head of this epistle. Again I seem to find myself 
under your friendly roof ; again to greet my provident 
host entering that gothic chamber in which I had been 
permitted to establish my unsocial study, heralding the 
advent of majestic folios, and heaping libraries round the 
unworthy work. Again, pausing from my labour, I look 
through that castle casement, and beyond that feudal moat, 
over the broad landscapes, which, if I err not, took their 
name from the proud brother of the Conqueror himself : or 
when, in those winter nights, the grim old tapestry waved 
in the dim recesses, I hear again the Saxon thegii winding 
his horn at the turret door, and demanding admittance to 
the halls from which the prelate of Bayeux had so un- 
righteously expelled him\ — what marvel, that I lived in 
the times of which I wrote, Saxon with the Saxon, Norman 
with the Norman — that I entered into no gossip less venerable 
than that current at the Court of the Confessor, or startled 
my fellow-guests (when I deigned to meet them) with the 
last news which Harold’s spies had brought over from the 
Camp at St. Valery? With all those folios, giants of the 
gone world, rising around me daily, more and more, higher 
and higher — Ossa upon Pelion — on chair and table, hearth 
and floor, invasive as Normans, indomitable as Saxons, and 
tall as the tallest Danes (ruthless host, I behold them still !) 
— with all those disburied spectres rampant in the chamber, 
all the armour rusting in thy galleries, all those mutilated 
statues of early English kings (including St. Edward himself) 

1 There is a legend attached to my friend’s house, that on certain 
nights in the year, Eric the Saxon winds his horn at the door, and, 
in forma spectri, serves his notice of ejectment. 


AUTHOR’S DEDICATORY EPISTLE xciii 

iiiclied into thy gi*ey, ivied walls — say in thy conscience, 
O host (if indeed that conscience be not wholly callous !), 
shall I ever return to the nineteenth century again ? 

But far beyond these recent associations of a single winter 
(for which heaven assoil thee ! ) goes the memory of a friend- 
ship of many winters, and proof to the storms of all. Often 
have I come for advice to your wisdom, and sympathy to 
your heart, bearing back with me, in all such seasons, new 
increase to that pleasurable gratitude which is, perhaps, the 
rarest, nor the least happy sentiment, that experience leaves 
to man. Some differences, it may be, — whether on those 
public questions which we see, every day, alienating friend- 
ships that should have been beyond the reach of laws and 
kings ; — or on the more scholastic controversies which as 
keenly interest the minds of educated men, — may at times 
deny to us the idem velle, atque idem nolle ; but the firma 
amicitia needs not those common links ; the sunshine does 
not leave the wave for the slight ripple which the casual 
stone brings a moment to the surface. 

Accept, in this dedication of a work which has lain so long 
on my mind, and been endeared to me from many causes, 
the token of an affection for you and yours, strong as the 
ties of kindred, and lasting as the belief in truth. 

E. B. L. 


AUTHOR’S PREFACE TO THE THIRD 
EDITION 


The author of an able and learned article on Mabillon,^ 
in the Edinburgh Review, has accurately described my aim 
in this work ; although, with that generous courtesy which 
characterises the true scholar, in referring to the labours of 
a contemporary, he has overrated my success. It was 
indeed my aim ‘^to solve the problem how to produce the 
greatest amount of dramatic effect at the least expense of 
historical truth’ — I borrow the words of the Reviewer, 
since none other could so tersely express my design, or so 
clearly account for the leading characteristics in its conduct 
and completion. 

There are two ways of employing the materials of History 
in the service of Romance : the one consists in lending to 
ideal personages, and to an imaginary fable, the additional 
interest to be derived from historical groupings : the other, 
in extracting the main interest of romantic narrative from 
History itself. Those who adopt the former mode are at 
liberty to exclude all that does not contribute to theatrical 
effect or picturesque composition ; their fidelity to the period 
they select is towards the manners and costume, not towards 
the precise order of events, the moral causes from which the 
events proceeded, and the physical agencies by which they 
were influenced and controlled. The plan thus adopted is 
unquestionably the more popular and attractive, and, being 
favoured by the most illustrious writers of historical romance, 
there is presumptive reason for supposing it to be also that 
which is the more agreeable to the art of fiction. 

But he who wishes to avoid the ground pre-occupied by 
others, and claim in the world of literature some spot, how- 
ever humble, which he may ^plough with his own heifer,’ 
will seek to establish himself not where the land is the most 
fertile, but where it is the least enclosed. So, when I first 

1 The Edinburgh Review, No. clxxix. January 1849. Art. i. 
‘ Correspondance inddite, de Mabillon et de Moutfaucon, avec I’ltalie.’ 
Par M. Valery. Paris, 1848. 
xciv 


AUTHOR’S PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION 


xcv 


turned my attention to Historical Romance, my main aim 
was to avoid as much as possible those fairer portions of the 
soil that had been appropriated by the first discoverers. The 
great author of Ivan hoe , and those amongst whom, abroad 
and at home, his mantle was divided, had employed History 
to aid Romance ; I contented myself with the humbler task 
to employ Romance in the aid of History, — to extract from 
authentic but neglected chronicles, and the unfrequented 
storehouse of Archaeology, the incidents and details that 
enliven the dry narrative of facts to which the general 
historian is confined, — construct my plot from the actual 
events themselves, and place the staple of such interest as I 
could create in reciting the struggles, and delineating the 
characters, of those w'ho had been the living actors in the 
real drama. For the main materials of the three Historical 
Romances I have composed, I consulted the original autho- 
rities of the time with a care as scrupulous, as if intending 
to write, not a fiction but a history. And having formed 
the best judgment I could of the events and characters of 
the age, I adhered faithfully to what, as an Historian, I 
should have held to be the true course and true causes of 
the great political events, and the essential attributes of the 
principal agents. Solely in that inward life which, not 
only as apart from the more public and historical, but 
which, as almost wholly unknown, becomes the fair domain 
of the poet, did I claim the legitimate privileges of fiction ; 
and even here I employed the agency of the passions only 
so far as they served to illustrate what I believed to be the 
genuine natures of the beings who had actually lived, and 
to restore the warmth of the human heart to the images 
recalled from the grave. 

Tims, even had I the gifts of my most illustrious pre- 
decessors, I should be precluded the use of many of the 
more brilliant. I shut myself out from the wider scope 
permitted to their fancy, and denied myself the licence to 
choose or select materials, alter dates, vary causes and 
effects according to the convenience of that more imperial 
fiction which invents the Probable where it discards the 
Real, llie mode I have adopted has perhaps only this 
merit, that it is my own — mine by discovery and mine by 
labour. And if I can raise not the spirits that obeyed the 
great master of romance, nor gain the key to the fairyland 
that opened to his spell, — at least I have not rifled the tomb 
of the w'izard to steal my art from the book that lies clasped 
on his breast. 

In treating of an age with which the general reader is so 
unfamiliar as that preceding the Norman Conquest, it is 


xcvi 


HAROLD 


impossible to avoid (especially in tlie earlier portions of my 
tale)j those explanations of the very character of the time 
which would have been necessary if I had only sought in 
History the picturesque accompaniments to Romance. 1 
have to do more than present an amusing picture of national 
manners — detail the dress, and describe the banquet. 
According to the plan I adopt, I have to make the reader 
acquainted with the imperfect fusion of races in Saxon 
England, familiarise him with the contests of parties and the 
ambition of chiefs, show him the strength and the weakness 
of a kindly but ignorant church ; of a brave but turbulent 
aristocracy ; of a people partially free, and naturally ener- 
getic, but disunited by successive immigi-ations, and having 
lost much of the proud jealousies of national liberty by sub- 
mission to the preceding conquests of the Dane ; acquiescent 
in the sway of foreign kings, and wuth that bulwark against 
invasion which an hereditary order of aristocracy usually 
erects, loosened to its very foundations by the copious 
admixture of foreign nobles. I have to present to the 
reader, here, the imbecile priestcraft of the illiterate monk, 
there, the dark superstition that still consulted the deities 
of the North by runes on the elm bark and adjurations of 
the dead. And in contrast to these pictures of a decrepit 
monarchy and a fated race, I have to bring forcibly before 
the reader the vigorous attributes of the coming conquerors, 
— the stern will and deep guile of the Norman chief — the 
comparative knowledge of the rising Norman Church — the 
nascent spirit of chivalry in the Norman vavasours ; a spirit 
destined to emancipate the very people it contributed to 
enslave, associated, as it imperfectly was, with the sense of 
freedom : disdainful, it is true, of the villein, but proudly 
curbing, though into feudal limits, the domination of the 
liege. In a word, 1 must place fully before the reader, if I 
would be faithful to the plan of^my work, the political and 
moral featiires of the age, as well as its lighter and livelier 
attributes, and so lead him to perceive, when he has closed 
the book, why England was conquered, and how England 
survived the Conquest. 

In accomplishing this task, I inevitably incur the objec- 
tions which the task itself raises up — objections to the labour 
it has cost ; to the information which the labour was under- 
taken in order to bestow ; objections to passages which seem 
to interrupt the narrative, but which in reality prepare for 
the incidents it embraces, or explain the position of the 
persons whose characters it illustrates, — whose fate it 
involves ; objections to the reference to authorities, where a 
fact might be disputed, or mistaken for fiction ; objections 


AllTHOR^S PREFACE tO THE THIRD EDITION xcvii 

to the use of Saxon words^ for which no accurate synonyms 
could be exchanged ; objections, in short, to the colouring, 
conduct, and composition of the whole work ; objections to 
all that separate it from the common crowd of Romances, 
and stamp on it, for good or for bad, a character peculiarly 
its own. Objections of this kind I cannot remove, though 
1 have carefully weighed them all. And with regard to the 
objection most important to story-teller and novel reader — 
viz., the dryness of some of the earlier portions, though I 
have thrice gone over those passages, with the stern deter- 
mination to inflict summary justice upon every unnecessary 
line, I must own to my regret that I have found but little 
which it was possible to omit without rendering the after 
narrative obscure, and without injuring whatever of more 
stirring interest the story, as it opens, may afford to the 
general reader of Romance. 

As to the Saxon words used, an explanation of all those 
that can be presumed unintelligible to a person of ordinary 
education is given either in the text or a foot-note. Such 
archaisms are much less numerous than certain critics 
would fain represent them to be : and they have rarely 
indeed been admitted where other words could have been 
employed without a glaring anachronism, or a tedious 
periphrase. Would it indeed be possible, for instance, to 
convey a notion of the customs and manners of our Saxon 
forefathers without employing words so mixed up with 
their daily usages and modes of thinking as ‘ weregeld’ 
and ^ niddering ’ } Would any words from the modern 
vocabulary suggest the same idea, or embody the same 
meaning } 

One critic good-humouredly exclaims, ^We have a full 
attendance of thegns and cnehts, but we should have liked 
much better our old friends and approved good masters 
thanes and knights.’ Nothing could be more apposite for 
my justification than the instances here quoted in censure ; 
nothing could more plainly vindicate the necessity of 
employing the Saxon words. For I should sadly indeed have 
misled the reader, if I had used the word knight in an age 
when knights were wholly unknown to the Anglo-Saxon : 
and cneht no more means what we understand by knight, 
than a templar in modern phrase means a man in chain 
mail vowed to celibacy, and the redemption of the Holy 
Sepulchre from the hands of the Mussulman. While, since 
thegn and thane are both archaisms, I prefer the former ; 
not only for the same reason that induces Sir Francis 
Palgrave to prefer it, viz., because it is the more etymolo- 
gically correct; but because we take from our neighbours 
h 


xcviii 


HAROLD 


the Scotch, not only the word thane, but the sense in which 
we apply it ; and that sense is not the same that we ought 
to attach to the various and complicated notions of nobility 
which the Anglo-Saxon comprehended in the title of thegn. 
It has been peremptorily said by more than one writer in 
periodicals, that I have overrated the erudition of William, 
in permitting him to know Latin ; nay, to have read the 
Comments of Caesar at the age of eight. — Where these gentle- 
men find the authorities to confute my statement I know 
not ; all I know is, that in the statement I have followed the 
original authorities usually deemed the best. And I con- 
tent myself with referring the disputants to a work not so 
difficult to procure as (and certainly more pleasant to read 
than) the old Chronicles. In Miss Strickland’s Lives of the 
Queens of England (Matilda of Flanders) the same state- 
ment is made, and no doubt upon the same authorities. 

More surprised should I be (if modern criticism had not 
taught me in all matters of assumption the nil admirari), to 
find it alleged that I have overstated not only the learning 
of the Norman duke, but that which flourished in Normandy 
under his reign ; for I should have thought that the fact of 
the learning which sprung up in the most thriving period of 
that principality ; the rapidity of its grovlh ; the benefits it 
derived from Lanfranc ; the encouragement it received from 
William, had been phenomena too remarkable in the annals 
of the age, and in the history of literature, to have met with 
an incredulity which the most moderate amount of informa- 
tion would have sufficed to dispel. Not to refer such 
sceptics to graver authorities, historical and ecclesiastical, in 
order to justify my representations of that learning which, 
under William the Bastard, made the schools of Normandy 
the popular academies of Europe, a page or two in a book 
so accessible as Villemain’s Tableau du Moyen Age, will 
perhaps suffice to convince them of the hastiness of their 
censure, and the error of their impressions. 

It is stated in the Athenceum, and I believe by a writer 
whose authority on the merits of opera singers I am far from 
contesting, but of whose competence to instruct the world 
in any other department of human industry or knowledge I 
am less persuaded, ^that I am much mistaken when I repre- 
sent not merely the clergy, but the young soldiers and 
courtiers of the reign of the Confessor, as well acquainted 
with the literature of Greece and Rome.’ 

The remark, to say the least of it, is disingenuous. I have 
done no such thing. This general animadversion is only 
justified by a reference to the pedantry of the Norman Mallet 
de Graville — and it is expressly stated in the text that Mallet 


AUTHOR’S PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION xcix 


de Graville was originally intended for the Church, and 
that it was the peculiarity of his literary information, rare 
in a soldier (but for which his earlier studies for the ecclesi- 
astical calling readily account, at a time when the Norman 
convent of Bee was already so famous for the erudition of 
its teachers, and the number of its scholars), that attracted 
towards him the notice of Lanfranc, and founded his for- 
tunes. Pedantry is made one of his characteristics (as it 
generally was the characteristic of any man wuth some pre- 
tensions to scholarship, in the earlier ages) ; and if he 
indulges in a classical allusion, whether in taunting a 
courtier or in conversing with a ‘ Saxon from the wealds of 
Kent,’ it is no more out of keeping with the pedantry 
ascribed to him, than it is unnatural in Dominie Sampson to 
rail at Meg Merrilies in Latin, or James the First to examine 
a young courtier in the same unfamiliar language. Nor 
should the critic in question, when inviting his readers to 
condemn me for making Mallet de Graville quote Horace, 
have omitted to state that de Graville expressly laments 
that he had never read, nor could even procure, a copy of 
the Roman poet — ^judging only of the merits of Horace by 
an extract in some monkish author, who was equally likely 
to have picked up his quotation second-hand. 

So, when a reference is made either by Graville, or by 
any one else in the romance, to Homeric fables and person- 
ages, a critic who has gone through the ordinary education 
of an English gentleman, would never thereby have assumed 
that the person so referring had read the poems of Homer 
themselves — he would have known that Homeric fables, or 
personages, though not the Homeric poems, were made 
familiar, by quaint travesties,^ even to the most illiterate 
audience of the gothic age. It was scarely more necessary 
to know Homer then than now, in order to have heard of 
Ulysses. The writer in the Athenceum is acquainted with 
Homeric personages, but who on earth would ever presume 
to assert that he is acquainted with Homer } 

Some doubt has been thrown upon my accuracy in ascrib- 
ing to the Anglo-Saxons the enjoyment of certain luxuries 
(gold and silver plate — the use of glass, etc.), which were 
extremely rare in an age much more recent. There is no 
ground for that doubt ; nor is there a single article of such 
luxury named in the text, for the mention of which I have 
not ample authority. 

1 And long before the date of the travesty known to us, and most 
popular amongst our mediaeval ancestors, it might be shown that 
some rude notion of Homer’s fable and personages had crept into the 
North, 


c 


HAROLD 


I have indeed devoted to this work a degree of researcli 
which, if unusual to romance, I cannot consider superfluous 
when illustrating an age so remote, and events unparalleled 
in their influence over the destinies of England. Nor am I 
without the hope, that what the romance-reader at first 
regards as a defect, he may ultimately acknowledge as 
a merit ; — forgiving me that strain on his attention by 
which alone I could leave distinct in his memory the action 
and the actors in that solemn tragedy which closed on the 
field of Hastings, over the corpse of the Last Saxon King. 

[E. B. L.] 







'M 


c 




BOOK I 

THE NORMAN VISITOR, THE SAXON KING, AND THE 
DANISH PROPHETESS 

« 

CHAPTER I 

Merry w^s the month .. of May in the year of our Lord 
1052. Few were the boys, and few the lasses, who over- 
slept themselves on the first of that buxom month. Long 
ere the dawn, the crowds had sought mead and woodland, 
to cut poles and wreathe flowers. Many a mead then lay 
fair and green beyond the village of Charing, and behind 
the isle of Thorney (amidst the brakes and briars of which 
were then rising fast and fair the Hall and Abbey of W" est- 
minster ;) many a wood lay dark in the starlight, along the 
higher ground that sloped from the dark Strand, with its 
numerous canals or dykes and on either side of the great 
road into Kent : — flutes and horns sounded far and near 
through the green places, and laughter and song, and the 
crash of breaking boughs. 

As the dawn came grey up the east, arch and blooming 
faces bowed down to bathe in the May dew. Patient oxen 
stood dozing by the hedgerows, all fragrant with blossoms, 
till the gay spoilers of the May came forth from the woods 
with lusty poles, followed by girls with laps full of flowers, 
which they had caught asleep. The poles were pranked 
with nosegays, and a chaplet was hung round the horns of 
every ox. Then towards day-break, the processions streamed 
back into the city, through all its gates ; boys with their 
May-gads (peeled willow wands twined with cowslips) 
going before ; and clear through the lively din of the horns 
and flutes, and amidst the moving grove of branches, choral 


A 


2 HAROLD 

voices, singing some early Saxon stave, precursor of the 
later song — 

‘We have brought the summer home.’ 

Often in the good old days before the Monk-king reigned, 
kings and ealdermen had thus gone forth a-maying ; but 
these merriments, savouring of heathenesse, that good 
prince misliked : nevertheless the song was as blithe, and 
the boughs were as green, as if king and ealdermen had 
walked in the train. 

On the great Kent road, the fairest meads for the cow- 
slip, and the greenest woods for the boughs, surrounded a 
large building that once had belonged to some voluptuous 
Roman, now all defaced and despoiled ; but the boys and 
the lasses shunned those demesnes ; and even in their mirth, 
as they passed homeward along the road, and saw near the 
ruined walls, and timbered outbuildings, grey Druid stones 
(that spoke of an age before either Saxon or Roman invader) 
gleaming through the dawn — the song was hushed — the 
very youngest crossed themselves ; and the elder in solemn 
whispers, suggested the precaution of changing the song 
into a psalm. For in that old building dwelt Hilda, (jf 
famous and dark repute ; Hilda, who, despite all law and 
canon, was still believed to practise the dismal arts of the 
Wicca and Morthwyrtha (the witch and worshipper of the 
dead). But once out of sight of those fearful precincts, the 
psalm was forgotten, and again broke, loud, clear, and 
silvery, the joyous chorus. 

So, entering London about sunrise, doors and windows 
were duly wreathed with garlands ; and every village in 
the suburbs had its May-pole, which stood in its place all 
the year. On that happy day labour rested ; ceorl and 
theowe had alike a holiday to dance, and tumble round the 
May-pole ; and thus, on the first of May, — Youth and 
Mirth and Music ^ brought the summer home.’ 

The next day you might still see where the buxom bands 
had been ; you might track their way by fallen flowers, 
and green leaves, and the deep ruts made by oxen (yoked 
often in teams from twenty to forty, in the wains that 
carried home the poles) ; and fair and frequent throughout 
the land, from any eminence, you might behold the hamlet 
swards still crowned with the May trees, and air still seemed 
fragrant with their garlands. 

It is on that second day of May,1052, that my story opens, 
at the House of Hilda, the reputed Morthwyrtha. It 
stood upon a gentle verdant height ; and even through 
all the barbarous mutilation it had undergone from bar- 


HAROLD 3 

barian hands, enough was left strikingly to contrast the 
ordinary abodes of the Saxon. 

The remains of Roman art were indeed still numerous 
throughout England, but it happened rarely that the Saxon 
had chosen his home amidst the villas of those noble and 
primal conquerors. Our first forefathers were more inclined 
to destroy than to adapt. 

By what chance this building became an exception to the 
ordinary rule, it is now impossible to conjecture, but from a 
very remote period it has sheltered successive races of 
Teuton lords. 

The changes wrought in the edifice were mournful and 
grotesque. What was now the Hall, had evidently been 
the atrium ; the round shield, with its pointed boss, the 
spear, sword, and small curved saex of the early Teuton, 
were suspended from the columns on which once had been 
wreathed the flowers ; in the centre of the floor, where 
fragments of the old mosaic still glistened from the hard- 
pressed paving of clay and lime, what now was the fire- 
place, had been the impluvium, and the smoke went sullenly 
through the aperture in the roof, made of old to receive the 
rains of heaven. Around the Hall were still left the old 
cubicula or dormitories (small, high, and lighted but from 
the doors), which now served for the sleeping-rooms of 
the humbler guest or the household servant ; while at the 
farther end of the Hall, the wide space between the columns, 
which had once given ample vista from graceful awnings 
into tablinum and viridarium, was filled up with rude rubble 
and Roman bricks, leaving but a low, round, arched door, 
that still led into the tablinum. But that tablinum, formerly 
the gayest state-room of the Roman lord, was now filled 
with various lumber, piles of fagots, and farming utensils. 
On either side of this desecrated apartment, stretched, to 
the right, the old lararium, stripped of its ancient images of 
ancestor and god ; to the left, what had been the gynoecium 
(women’s apartment). 

One side of the ancient peristyle, which was of vast 
extent, was now converted into stabling, sties for swine, 
and stalls for oxen. On the other side was constructed a 
Christian chapel, made of rough oak planks, fastened by 
plates at the top, and with a roof of thatched reeds. The 
columns and wall at the extreme end of the peristyle were 
a mass of ruins, through the gigantic rents of which loomed 
a grassy hillock, its sides partially covered with clumps of 
furze. On this hillock were the mutilated remains of an 
ancient Druidical crommel, in the centre of which (near a 
funeral mound, or barrow, with the bautastean, or grave- 


4 


HAROLD 


stone, of some early Saxon chief at one end) had been 
sacrilegiously placed an altar to Thor, as was apparent both 
from the shape, from a rude, half-obliterated, sculptured 
relief of the god, with his lifted hammer, and a few Runic 
letters. Amidst the temple of the Briton the Saxon had 
reared the shrine of his triumphant war-god. 

Now still, amidst the ruins of that extreme side of the 
peristyle which open to this hillock were left, first, an 
ancient Roman fountain, that now served to water the 
swine, and next, a small sacellum, or fane to Bacchus (as 
relief and frieze, yet spared, betokened) ; thus the eye, at 
one survey, beheld the shrines of four creeds : the Druid, 
mystical and symbolical ; the Roman, sensual, but humane ; 
the Teutonic, ruthless and destroying ; and, latest risen and 
surviving all, though as yet with but little of its gentler in- 
fluence over the deeds of men, the edifice of the Faith of Peace. 

Across the peristyle, theowes and swineherds passed to 
and fro ; in the atrium, men of a higher class, half armed, 
were, some drinking, some at dice, some playing with huge 
hounds, or caressing the hawks that stood grave and solemn 
on their perches. 

The lararium was deserted ; the gynoecium was still, as 
in the Roman time, the favoured apartment of the female 
portion of the household, and indeed bore the same name — 
and with the group there assembled we have now to do. 

The appliances of the chamber showed the rank and 
wealth of the owner. At that period the domestic luxury 
of the rich was infinitely greater than has been generally 
supposed. The industry of the women decorated wall and 
furniture with needlework and hangings ; and as a Thegii 
forfeited his rank if he lost his lands, so the higher orders 
of an- aristocracy rather of wealth than birth, had usually 
a certain portion of superfluous riches, which served to flow 
towards the bazaars of the East and the nearer markets of 
Flanders and Saracenic Spain. 

In this room the walls were draped with silken hangings 
richly embroidered. The single window was glazed with 
a dull grey glass. On a beaufet were ranged horns tipped 
with silver, and a few vessels of pure gold. A small circular 
table in the centre was supported by symbolical monsters 
quaintly carved. At one side of the wall, on a long settle, 
some half-a-dozen handmaids were employed in spinning ; 
remote from them, and near the window, sat a woman 
advanced in years, and of a mien and aspect singularly 
majestic. Upon a small tripod before her was a Runic 
manuscript, and an inkstand of elegant form, with a silver 
graphium or pen. At her feet reclined a girl somewhat 


HAROLD 


5 


about the age of sixteen, her long fair hair parted across her 
forehead and falling far down her shoulders. Her dress 
was a linen under-tunic, with long sleeves, rising high to 
the throat, and without one of the modern artificial restraints 
of the shape, the simple belt sufficed to show the slender 
proportions and delicate outline of the wearer. The colour 
of the dress was of the purest white, but its hems or borders 
were richly embroidered. This girl’s beauty was something 
marvellous. In a land proverbial for fair women, it had 
already obtained her the name of ‘the fair.’ In that beauty 
were blended, not as yet without a struggle for mastery, 
the two expressions seldom united in one countenance, the 
soft and the noble ; indeed, in the whole aspect there was 
the evidence of some internal struggle ; the intelligence was 
not yet complete ; the soul and heart were not yet united : 
and Edith the Christian maid dwelt in the house of Hilda the 
heathen prophetess. The girl’s blue eyes, rendered dark by 
the shade of their long lashes, were fixed intently upon the 
stern and troubled countenance which was bent upon her 
own, but bent with that abstract gaze which shows that the 
soul is absent from the sight. So sat Hilda, and so reclined 
her grandchild Edith. 

‘ Grandam,’ said the girl in a low voice and after a long 
pause ; and the sound of her voice so startled the hand- 
maids, that every spindle stopped for a moment and then 
plied with renewed activity ; ‘ Grandam, what troubles you 
— are you not thinking of the great Earl and his fair sons, 
now outlawed far over the wide seas } ’ 

As the girl spoke, Hilda started slightly, like one awakened 
from a dream ; and when Edith had concluded her question, 
she rose slowly to the height of a statue, unbowed by her 
years, and far towering above even the ordinary standard of 
men ; and turning from the child, her eye fell upon the row 
of silent maids, each at her rapid, noiseless, stealthy work. 
‘ Ho ! ’ said she ; her cold and haughty eye gleaming as she 
spoke ; ‘ yesterday they brought home the summer — to-day, 
ye aid to* bring home the winter. W eave well, heed well 
warf and woof ; Skulda is amongst ye, and her pale fingers 
guide the web ! ’ 

The maidens lifted not their eyes, though in every cheek 
the colour paled at the words of the mistress. The spindles 
revolved, the thread shot, and again there was silence more 
freezing than before. 

‘ Askest thou,’ said Hilda at length, passing to the child, 
as if the question so long addressed to her ear had only just 
reached her mind ; ^ askest thou if I thought of the 
Earl and his fair sons.^ — yea, I heard the smith welding 


6 


HAROLD 


arms on the anvil, and the hammer of the shipwright 
shaping strong ribs for the horses of the sea. Ere the 
reaper has bound his sheaves, Earl Godwin will scare the 
Normans in the halls of the Monk-king, as the hawk scares 
the brood in the dovecot. Weave well, heed well warf and 
woof, nimble maidens — strong be the texture, for biting is 
the worm.’ 

^What weave they, then, good grandmother.^’ asked the 
girl, with wonder and awe in her soft mild eyes. 

^ The winding-sheet of the great ! ’ 

Hilda’s lips closed, but her eyes, yet brighter than before, 
gaze upon space, and her pale hand seemed tracing letters, 
like runes, in the air. 

Then slowly she turned, and looked forth through the 
dull window. ‘ Give me my coverchief and my staff,’ said 
she quickly. 

Every one of the handmaids, blithe for excuse to quit a 
task which seemed recently commenced, and was certainly 
not endeared to them by the knowledge of its purpose com- 
municated to them by the lady, rose to obey. 

Unheeding the hands that vied with each other, Hilda 
took the hood, and drew it partially over her brow. Leaning 
lightly on a long staff, the head of which formed a raven, 
carved from some wood stained black, she passed into the 
hall, and thence through the desecrated tabliiium, into the 
mighty court formed by the shattered peristyle ; there she 
stopped, mused a moment, and called on Edith. The girl 
was soon by her side. 

^Come with me. — There is a face you shall see but twice 
in life ; this day,’ — and Hilda paused, and the rigid and 
almost colossal beauty of her countenance softened. 

' And when again, my grandmother ? ’ 

' Child, put thy warm hand in mine. So ! the vision 
darkens from me. — When again, saidst thou, Edith — alas, 
I know not. ’ 

While thus speaking, Hilda passed slowly by the Roman 
fountain and the heathen fane, and ascended the little 
hillock. There on the opposite side of the summit, backed 
by the Druid crommel and the Teuton altar, she seated her- 
self deliberately on the sward. 

A few daisies, primroses, and cowslips, grew around ; 
these Edith began to pluck. Singing, as she w ove, a simple 
song, that, not more by the dialect than the sentiment, 
betrayed its origin in the ballad of the Norse, which had, 
in its more careless composition, a character quite distinct 
from the artificial poetry of the Saxons. The song may be 
thus imperfectly rendered : 


HAROLD 


7 


‘ Merrily the throstle sings 
Amid the merry May ; 

The throstle sings but to my ear ; 

My heart is far away ! 

‘ Blithely bloometh mead and bank, 

And blithely buds the tree ; 

And hark !— they bring the Summer home ; 

It has no home with me ! 

‘ They have outlawed him — my Summer ! 

An outlaw far away ! — 

The birds may sing, the flowers may bloom, — 

O, give me back my May ! ’ 

As she came to the last line^ her soft low voice seemed to 
aw'aken a chorus of sprightly horns and trumpets, and certain 
other wind instruments peculiar to the music of that day. 
The hillock bordered the high road to London — which 
then wound through wastes of forest land — and now emerg- 
ing from the trees to the left appeared a goodly com- 
pany. First came two riders abreast, each holding a 
banner. On the one was depicted the cross and five mart- 
lets, the device of Edward, afterwards surnamed the Con- 
fessor : on the other, a plain broad cross with a deep 
border round it, and the streamer shaped into sharp 
points. 

The first was^familiar to Edith, who dropped her garland 
to gaze on the approaching pageant ; the last was strange 
to her. She had been accustomed to see the banner of the 
great Earl Godwin by the side of the Saxon king ; and she 
said, almost indignantly — 

^ Who dares, sweet grandam, to place banner or pennon 
where Earl Godwin’s ought to float } ’ 

^ Peace,’ said Hilda, ^ peace and look.’ 

Immediately behind the standard-bearers came two figures 
— strangely dissimilar indeed in mien, in years, in bearing : 
each bore on his left wrist a hawk. The one was mounted 
on a milk-white palfrey, with housings inlaid with gold and 
uncut jewels. Though not really old — for he was much on 
this side of sixty — both his countenance and carriage evinced 
age. His complexion, indeed, was extremely fair, and his 
cheeks ruddy ; but the visage was long and deeply furrowed, 
and from beneath a bonnet not dissimilar to those in use 
among the Scotch, streamed hair long and white as snow, 
mingling with a large and forked beard. White seemed his % 
chosen colour. White was the upper tunic clasped on his 
shoulder with a broad ouche or brooch ; white the woollen 
leggings fitted to somewhat emaciated limbs ; and white the 


8 


HAROLD 


mantle,, though broidered with a broad hem of gold and 
purple. The fashion of his dress was that which well 
became a noble person, hut it suited ill the somewhat frail 
and graceless figure of the rider. Nevertheless, as Edith saw 
him, she rose, with an expression of deep reverence on 
her countenance, and saying, ^It is our lord the King,’ 
advanced some steps down the hillock, and there stood, her 
arms folded on her breast, and quite forgetful, in her 
innocence and youth, that she had left the house without 
the cloak and coverchief which were deemed indispensable 
to the fitting appearance of maid and matron when they 
were seen abroad. 

^ Fair sir, and brother mine,’ said the deep voice of the 
younger rider, in the Romance or Norman tongue, ^ I have 
heard that the small people of whom my neighbours, the 
Bretons, tell us much, abound greatly in this fair land of 
yours ; and if I were not by the side of one whom no 
creature unassoilzied and unbaptized dare approach, by sweet 
St. Valery I should say — yonder stands one of those same 
gentilles fees ! ’ 

King Edward’s eye followed the direction of his com- 
panion’s outstretched hand, and his quiet brow slightly 
contracted as he beheld the young form of Edith standing 
motionless a few yards before him, with the warm May vund 
lifting and playing with her long golden locks. He checked 
his palfrey, and murmured some Latin words which the 
knight beside him recognised as a prayer, and to which, 
doffing his cap, he added an Amen, in a tone of such 
unctuous gravity, that the royal saint rewarded him with 
a faint approving smile, and an affectionate ^ Bene, hene^ 
Piosissime. ’ 

Then inclining his palfrey’s head towards the knoll, he 
motioned to the girl to approach him. Edith, with a 
heightened colour, obeyed, and came to the roadside. The 
standard-bearers halted, as did the King and his comrade — 
the procession behind halted — thirty knights, two bishops, 
eight abbots, all on fiery steeds and in Norman garb — 
squires and attendants on foot — a long and pompous retinue 
— they halted all. Only a stray hound or two broke from 
the rest, and wandered into the forest land with heads 
trailing. 

^ Edith, my child,’ said Edward, still in Norman-French, 
for he spoke his own language with hesitation, and the 
Romance tongue, which had long been familiar to the 
higher classes in England, had, since his accession, become 
the only language in use at court, and as such every one of 
^ Eorl-kind ’ was supposed to speak it ; — " Edith, my child, 


HAROLD 


9 


thou hast not forgotten my lessons, I trow ; thou singest 
the hymns I gave thee, and neglectest not to wear the relic 
round thy neck.’ 

The girl hung her head, and spoke not. 

^How comes it, then,’ continued the King, with a voice 
to which he in vain endeavoured to impart an accent of 
severity, ^how comes it, O little one, that thou, whose 
thoughts should be lifted already above this carnal world, 
and eager for the service of Mary the chaste and blessed, 
standest thus hoodless and alone on the waysides, a mark 
for the eyes of men ? go to, it is naught.’ 

Thus reproved, and in presence of so large and brilliant 
a company, the girl’s colour went and came, her breast 
heaved high, but with an effort beyond her age she checked 
her tears, and said meekly, ^ My grandmother, Hilda, bade 
me come with her, and I came.’ 

^ Hilda !’ said the King, backing his palfrey with ap- 
parent perturbation, ^but Hilda is not with thee; I see 
her not.’ 

As he spoke, Hilda rose, and so suddenly did her tall form 
appear on the brow of the hill, that it seemed as if she had 
emerged from the earth. With a light and rapid stride she 
gained the side of her grandchild ; and after a slight and 
haughty reverence, said, ^ Hilda is here ; what wants Edward 
the King with his servant Hilda ? ’ 

Nought, nought,’ said the King, hastily; and some- 
thing like fear passed over his placid countenance ; ^ save, 
indeed,’ he added, with a reluctant tone, as of that of a 
man who obeys his conscience against his inclination, ^ that 
I M^ould pray thee to keep this child pure to threshold and 
altar, as is meet for one whom our Lady, the Virgin, in due 
time, will elect to her service. ’ 

^ Not so, son of Etheldred, son of Woden, the last de- 
scendant of Penda should live, not to glide a ghost amidst 
cloisters, but to rock children for war in their father’s 
shield. Few men are there yet like the men of old ; and 
while the foot of the foreigner is on the Saxon soil no branch 
of the stem of Woden should be nipped in the leaf.’ 

^ Per la resplendar De,^ bold dame,’ cried the knight by 
the side of Edward, while a lurid flush passed over his 
cheek of bronze ; ^ but thou art too glib of tongue for a 
subject, and pratest overmuch of Woden, the Paynim, for 
the lips of a Christian matron.’ 

Hilda met the flashing eye of the knight with a brow of 
lofty scorn, on which still a certain terror was visible. 


1 ‘ By the splendour of God.’ 


10 


HAROLD 


^ Child/ she said, putting her hand upon Edith’s fair 
locks ; ^ this is the man thou shalt see but twice in thy 
life ; — look up, and mark well ! ’ 

Edith instinctively raised her eyes, and, once fixed upon 
the knight, they seemed chained as by a spell. His vest, 
of a cramoisy so dark, that it seemed black beside the 
snowy garb of the Confessor, was edged by a deep band of 
embroidered gold ; leaving perfectly bare his firm, full 
throat — firm and full as a column of granite, — a short 
jacket or manteline of fur, pendent from the shoulders, 
left developed in all its breadth a breast, that seemed meet 
to stay the march of an army ; and on the left arm, curved 
to support the falcon, the vast muscles rose, round and 
gnarled, through the close sleeve. 

In height, he was really but little above the stature of 
many of those present ; nevertheless, so did his port, his 
air, the nobility of his large proportions, fill the eye, that 
he seemed to tower immeasurably above tlie rest. 

His countenance was yet more remarkable than his form ; 
still in the prime of youth, he seemed at the first glance 
younger, at the second older, than he was. At the first 
glance younger ; for his face was perfectly shaven, without 
even the moustache which the Saxon courtier, in imitating 
the Norman, still declined to surrender ; and the smooth 
visage and bare throat sufficed in themselves to give the 
air of youth to that dominant and imperious presence. 
His small skull-cap left unconcealed his forehead, shaded 
with short thick hair, uncurled, but black and glossy as 
the wings of a raven. It was on that forehead that time 
had set its trace ; it was knit into a frown over the eye- 
brows ; lines deep as furrows crossed its broad but not 
elevated expanse. That frown spoke of hasty ire and tlie 
habit of stern command ; those furrows spoke of deep 
thought and plotting scheme ; the one betrayed but temper 
and circumstance ; the other, more noble, spoke of the 
character and the intellect. The face was square, and tlie 
regard lion-like ; the mouth — small, and even beautiful in 
outline — had a sinister expression in its exceeding firmness ; 
and the jaw — vast, solid, as if bound in iron — showed obsti- 
nate, ruthless, determined will ; such a jaw as belongs to 
the tiger amongst beasts, and the conqueror amongst men ; 
such as it is seen in the effigies of Caesar, of Cortes, of 
Napoleon. 

That presence was well calculated to command the ad- 
miration of women, not less than the awe of men. But no 
admiration mingled with the terror that seized the girl as 
she gazed long and wistful upon the knight. The fascina- 


HAROLD 


11 


tion of the serpent on the bird held her mute and frozen. 
Never was that face forgotten ; often in after-life it haunted 
her in the noonday, it frowned upon her dreams. 

‘^Fair child,’ said the knight, fatigued at length by the 
obstinacy of the gaze, while that smile peculiar to those 
who have commanded men, relaxed his brow, and restored 
the native beauty to his lip, ^fair child, learn not from thy 
peevish grandam so uncourteous a lesson as hate of the 
foreigner. As thou growest into womanhood, know that 
Norman knight is sworn slave to lady fair ; ’ and, doffing 
his cap, he took from it an uncut jewel, set in Byzantine 
filagree work. ^ Hold out thy lap, my child ; and when 
thou hearest the foreigner scoifed, set this bauble in thy 
locks, and think kindly of William, Count of the Nor- 
mans.’ 

He dropped the jewel on the ground as he spoke ; for 
Edith, shrinking and unsoftened towards him, held no lap 
to receive it ; and Hilda, to whom Edward had been speak- 
ing in a low voice, advanced to the spot and struck the 
jewel with her staff under the hoofs of the King’s palfrey. 

^ Son of Emma, the Norman woman, who sent thy youth 
into exile, trample on the gifts of thy Norman kinsman. 
And if, as men say, thou art of such gifted holiness that 
Heaven grants thy hand the power to heal, and thy voice 
the power to curse, heal thy country, and curse the 
stranger ! ’ 

She extended her right arm to William as she spoke, 
and such was the dignity of her passion, and such its force, 
that an awe fell upon all. Then dropping her hood over 
her face, she slowly turned away, regained the summit of 
the knoll, and stood erect beside the altar of the Northern 
god, her face invisible through the hood drawn completely 
over it, and her form motionless as a statue. 

^ Ride on,’ said Edward, crossing himself. 

^ Now by the bones of St. Valery,’ said William, after a 
pause, in which his dark keen eye noted the gloom upon 
the King’s gentle face, ^ it moves much my simple wonder 
how even presence so saintly can hear without wrath words 
so unleal and foul. Gramercy, an the proudest dame in 
Normandy (and I take her to be wife to my stoutest baron, 
William Fitzosborne) had spoken thus to me ’ 

^ Thou wouldst have done as I, my brother,’ interrupted 
Edward ; ^ prayed to our Lord to pardon her, and rode on 
pitying.’ 

William’s lip quivered with ire, yet he curbed the reply 
that sprang to it, and he looked with aff'ection genuinely 
more akin to admiration than scorn, upon his fellow-prince. 


12 


HAROLD 


For, fierce and relentless as the Duke’s deeds were, his 
faith was notably sincere ; and while this made, indeed, 
the prince’s chief attraction to the pious Edward, so, on the 
other hand, this bowed the Duke in a kind of involuntary 
and superstitious homage to the man who sought to square 
deeds to faith. It is ever the case with stern and stormy 
spirits, that the meek ones which contrast them steal 
strangely into their affections. This principle of human 
nature can alone account for the enthusiastic devotion 
which the mild sufferings of the Saviour awoke in the 
fiercest exterminators of the North. In proportion, often, 
to the warrior’s ferocity, w'as his love to that Divine model, 
at whose sufferings he wept, to whose tomb he wandered 
barefoot, and whose example of compassionate forgiveness 
he would have thought himself the basest of men to follow ! 

^ Now, by my Halidame, I honour and love thee, Edward,’ 
cried the Duke, with a heartiness more frank than was 
usual to him : ‘^and were I thy subject, woe to man or 
woman that wagged tongue to wound thee by a breath. 
But who and what is this same Hilda ? one of thy kith and 
kin ? — surely not less than kingly blood runs so bold ? ’ 

^William, bien aime’ said the King, ^it is true that Hilda, 
whom the saints assoil, is of kingly blood, though not of our 
kingly line. It is feared,’ added Edward, in a timid whisper, 
as he cast a hurried glance around him, ‘^that this unhappy 
woman has ever been more addicted to the rites of her pagan 
ancestors than to those of Holy Church ; and men do say that 
she hath thus acquired from fiend or charm secrets devoutly 
to be eschewed by the righteous. Nathless, let us rather 
hope that her mind is somewhat distraught with her mis- 
fortunes.’ 

The King sighed, and the Duke sighed too, but the 
Duke’s sigh spoke impatience. He swept behind him a 
stern and withering look towards the proud figure of Hilda, 
still seen through the glades, and said in a sinister voice : 
^Of kingly blood; but this wutch of Woden hath no sons 
or kinsmen, I trust, who pretend to the throne of the 
Saxon } ’ 

^She is sibbe to Githa, wife of Godwin,’ answered the 
King, ^ and that is her most perilous connexion ; for the 
banished Earl, as thou knowest, did not pretend to fill the 
throne, but he was content with nought less than governing 
our people.’ 

The King then proceeded to sketch an outline of the 
liistory of Hilda, but his narrative was so deformed both by 
his superstitions and prejudices, and his imperfect informa- 
tion in all the leading events and characters in his own 


HAROLD 


13 


kingdom, that we will venture to take upon ourselves his 
task ; and while the train ride on through glade and mead, 
we will briefly narrate, from our own special sources of know- 
ledge, the chronicle of Hilda, the Scandinavian Vala. 


CHAPTER II 

A MAGNIFICENT racc of men were those war sons of the old 
North, whom our popular histories, so superficial in their 
accounts of this age, include in the common name of the 
'Danes/ They replunged into barbarism the nations over 
which they swept ; but from that barbarism they reproduced 
the noblest elements of civilisation. Swede, Norwegian, 
and Dane, differing in some minor points, when closely 
examined, had yet one common character viewed at a 
distance. They had the same prodigious energy, the same 
passion for freedom, individual and civil, the same splendid 
errors in the thirst for fame and the ' point of honour ; ’ and 
above all, as a main cause of civilisation, they were wonder- 
fully pliant and malleable in their admixtures with the peoples 
they overran. This is their true distinction from the stub- 
born Celt, who refuses to mingle, and disdains to improve. 

Frankes, the archbishop, baptized Rolf-ganger ; and with- 
in a little more than a century afterwards, the descendants 
of those terrible heathens, who had spared neither priest 
nor altar, were the most redoubtable defenders of the 
Christian Church ; their old language forgotten (save by 
a few in the town of Bayeux), their ancestral names (save 
among a few of the noblest) changed into French titles, and 
little else but the indomitable valour of the Scandinavian 
remained unaltered amongst the arts and manners of the 
Frankish-Norman. 

In like manner their kindred tribes, who had poured into 
Saxon England to ravage and lay desolate, had no sooner 
obtained from Alfred the Great permanent homes, than they 
became perhaps the most powerful, and in a short time, 
not the least patriotic, part of the Anglo-Saxon population. 
At the time our story opens, these Northmen, under the 
common name of Danes, were peaceably settled in no less 
than fifteen counties in England ; their nobles abounded in 
towns and cities beyond the boundaries of those counties 
which bore the distinct appellation of Danelagh. They were 
numerous in London : in the precincts of which they had 
their own burial-place, to the chief municipal court of which 


14 


HAROLD 


they gave their own appellation — the Hustings. Their 
' power in the national assembly of the Witan had decided 
the choice of kings. Thus, with some differences of law 
and dialect, these once turbulent invaders had amalgamated 
amicably with the native race. And to this day, the gentry, 
traders, and farmers of more than one-third of England, 
and in those counties most confessed to be in the van of 
improvement, descend, from Saxon mothers indeed, but 
from Viking fathers. There was in reality little difference 
in race between the Norman knight of the time of Henry i. 
and the Saxon franklin of Norfolk and York. Both on the 
mother’s side would most probably have been Saxon, both 
on the father’s would have traced to the Scandinavian. 

But though this character of adaptability was general, 
exceptions in some points were necessarily found, and these 
were obstinate in proportion to the adherence to the old 
pagan faith, or the sincere conversion to Christianity. The 
Norwegian chronicles, and passages in our own history, 
show how false and hollow was the assumed Christianity 
of many of these fierce Odin-worshippers. They willingly 
enough accepted the outward sign of baptism, but the holy 
M^ater changed little of the inner man. Even Harold, the 
son of Canute, scarce seventeen years before the date we 
have now entered, being unable to obtain from the Arch- 
bishop of Canterbury — who had espoused the cause of his 
brother Hardicanute — the consecrating benediction, lived 
and reigned as one ^who had abjured Christianity.’ 

The priests, especially on the Scandinavian continent, 
were often forced to compound with their grim converts, 
by indulgence to certain habits, such as indiscriminate 
polygamy. To eat horse-flesh in honour of Odin, and to 
marry wives ad libitum, were the main stipulations of the 
neophytes. And the puzzled monks, often driven to a 
choice, yielded the point of the wives, but stood firm on 
the graver article of the horse-flesh. 

With their new religion, very imperfectly understood, 
even when genuinely received, they retained all that host 
of heathen superstition which knits itself with the most 
obstinate instincts in the human breast. Not many years 
before the reign of the Confessor, the laws of the great 
Canute against witchcraft and charms, the worship of stones, 
fountains, runes by ash and elm, and the incantations that 
do homage to the dead, were obviously rather intended to 
apply to the recent Danish converts, than to the Anglo- 
Saxons, already subjugated for centuries, body and soul, 
to the domination of the Christian Monks. 

Hilda, a daughter of the royalty of Denmark, and cousin 


HAROLD 


15 


to Githa (niece to Canute, whom that king had bestowed 
in second spousals upon Godwin), had come over to England 
with a fierce Jarl, her husband, a year after Canute’s acces- 
sion to the throne — both converted nominally, both secretly 
believers in Thor and Odin. 

Hilda’s husband had fallen in one of the actions in the 
Northern seas, between Canute and St. Olave, king of 
Norway (that saint himself, by the bye, a most ruthless 
persecutor of his forefathers’ faith, and a most unqualified 
practical assertor of his heathen privilege to extend his 
domestic affections beyond the severe pale which should 
have confined them to a single wife. His natural son 
Magnus then sat on the Danish throne). The Jarl died as 
he had wished to die, the last man on board his ship, with 
the soothing conviction that the Valkyrs would bear him to 
Valhalla. 

Hilda was left with an only daughter, whom Canute 
bestowed on Elthelwolf, a Saxon Earl of large domains, 
and tracing his descent from Penda, that old king of Mercia 
who refused to be converted, but said so discreetly ^that he 
had no objection to his neighbours being Christians, if they 
would practise that peace and forgiveness which the monks 
told him were the elements of the faith.’ 

Ethelwolf fell under the displeasure of Hardicanute, 
perhaps because he was more Saxon than Danish ; and 
though that savage king did not dare openly to arraign 
him before the Witan, he gave secret orders by which he 
was butchered on his own hearthstone, in the arms of his 
wife, who died shortly afterwards of grief and terror. The 
only orphan of this unhappy pair, Edith, was thus con- 
signed to the charge of Hilda. 

It was a necessary and invaluable characteristic of that 
^adaptability’ which distinguished the Danes, that they 
transferred to the land in which they settled all the love 
they had borne to that of their ancestors ; and so far as 
attachment to soil was concerned, Hilda had grown no less 
in heart an Englishwoman, than if she had been born and 
reared amidst the glades and knolls from which the smoke 
of her hearth rose through the old Roman compluvium. 

But in all else she was a Dane. Dane in her creed and 
her habits — Dane in her intense and brooding imagination 
— in the poetry that filled her soul, peopled the air with 
spectres, and covered the leaves of the trees with charms. 
Living in austere seclusion after the death of her lord, to 
whom she had borne a Scandinavian woman’s devoted but 
heroic love — sorrowing indeed for his death, but rejoicing 
that he fell amidst the feast of ravens, — her mind settled 


16 


HAROLD 


more and more year by year, and day by day, upon those 
visions of the unknown world, which in every faith, conjure 
up the companions of solitude and grief. 

Witchcraft in the Scandinavian North assumed many 
forms, and was connected by many degrees. There was 
the old and withered hag, on whom, in our later mediaeval 
ages, the character was mainly bestowed ; there was the 
terrific witch-wife, or wolf-witch, who seems wholly apart 
from human birth and attributes, like the weird sisters of 
Macbeth — creatures who entered the house at night, and 
seized warriors to devour them, who might be seen gliding 
over the sea, with the carcase of the wolf dripping blood 
from their giant jaws ; and there was the more serene, 
classical, and awful vala, or sibyl, who, honoured by chiefs « 
and revered by nations, foretold the future, and advised 
the deeds of heroes. Of these last, the Norse chronicles 
tell us much. They were often of rank and w^ealth, they 
were accompanied by trains of handmaids and servants — 
kings led them (when their counsel was sought) to the place 
of honour in the hall — and their heads w'ere sacred, as . those 
of ministers to the gods. 

This last state in the grisly realm of the Wig-laer (wizard- 
lore) was the one naturally appertaining to the high rank, 
and the soul, lofty though blind and perverted, of the 
daughter of warrior-kings. All practice of the art to which 
now for long years she had devoted herself, that touched 
upon the humble destinies of the vulgar, the child of Odin 
haughtily disdained. Her reveries were upon the fate of 
kings and kingdoms ; she aspired to save or to rear the 
dynasties which should rule the races yet unborn. In 
youth proud and ambitious, — common faults with her 
countrywomen, — on her entrance into the darker world, 
she carried with her the prejudices and passions that she 
had known in that coloured by the external sun. 

All her human affections were centred in her grandchild 
Edith, the last of a race royal on either side. Her researches 
into the future had assured her, that the life and death of 
this fair child were entwined w ith the fates of a king, and 
the same oracles had intimated a mysterious and inseparable 
connection between her own shattered house and the 
flourishing one of Earl Godwin, the spouse of her kins- 
woman Githa: so that with this great family she was as 
intimately bound by the links of superstition as by the ties 
of blood. The eldest born of Godwin, Sweyn, had been at 
first especially her care and her favourite ; and he, of more 
poetic temperament than his brothers, had willingly sub- 
mitted to her influence. But of all the brethren, as will 


HAROLD 


17 

be seen hereafter, the career of Sweyn had been most 
noxious and ill-omened ; and at that moment, while the 
rest ot the house carried with it into exile the deep and 
i^ignant sympathy of England, no man said of Sewyn, 
^ God bless him ! ^ ’ 

But as the second son, Harold, had grown from child- 
hood into youth, Hilda had singled him out with a pre- 
ftrence even more marked than that she had bestowed upon 
Sweyn. The stars and the runes assured her of his future 
greatness, and the qualities and talents of the young Earl 
had, at the very onset of his career, confirmed the accuracy 
of their predictions. Her interest in Harold became the 
more intense, partly because whenever she consulted the 
future for the lot of her grandchild Edith, she invariably 
found it associated with the fate of Harold — partly because 
all her arts had failed to penetrate beyond a certain point 
in their joint destinies, and left her mind agitated and 
perplexed between hope and terror. As yet, however, she 
had wholly failed in gaining any ascendency over the young 
Earl’s vigorous and healthful mind : and though before 
his exile he came more often than any of Godwin’s sons to 
the old Roman house, he had smiled with proud incredulity 
at her, vague prophecies, and rejected all her offers of aid 
from invisible agencies with the calm reply— 'The brave 
man wants no charms to encourage him to his duty, and 
the good man scorns all warnings that would deter him 
from fulfilling it.’ 

Indeed, though Hilda’s magic was not of the malevolent 
kind, and sought the source of its oracles not in fiends but 
gods (at least the gods in whom she believed), it was 
noticeable that all over whom her influence had prevailed 
had come to miserable and untimely ends not alone her 
husband and her son-in-law (both of whom had been as wax 
to her counsel), but such other chiefs as rank or ambition 
permitted to appeal to her lore. Nevertheless, such was 
the ascendency she had gained over the popular mind, that 
it would have been dangerous in the highest degree to 
put into execution against her the laws condemnatory of 
witchcraft. In her, all the more powerful Danish families 
reverenced, and would have protected, the blood of their 
ancient kings, and the widow of one of their most renowned 
heroes. Hospitable, liberal, and beneficent to the poor, 
and an easy mistress over numerous ceorls, while the 
vulgar dreaded, they would yet have defended her. Proofs 
of her art it would have been hard to establish ; hosts of 
compurgators to attest her innocence would have sprung 
up. Even if subjected to the ordeal, her gold could easily 


18 


HAROLD 


have bribed the priests with whom the power of evading 
its dangers rested. And with that worldly wisdom which 
persons of genius in their wildest chimeras rarely lack, she 
had already freed herself from the chance of active per- 
secution from the Church, by ample donations to all the 
neighbouring monasteries. 

Hilda, in fine, was a woman of sublime desires and extra- 
ordinary gifts ; terrible, indeed, but as the passive agent 
of the Fates she invoked, and rather commanding for 
herself a certain troubled admiration and mysterious pity ; 
no fiend-hag, beyond humanity in malice and in power, but 
essentially human, even when aspiring most to the secrets 
of a god. Assuming, for the moment, that by the aid of 
intense imagination, persons of a peculiar idiosyncrasy of 
nerves and temperament might attain to such dim affinities 
with a world beyond our ordinary senses, as forbid entire 
rejection of the magnetism and magic of old times — it was 
on no foul and mephitic pool, overhung with the poisonous 
nightshade, and excluded from the beams of heaven, but 
on the living stream on which the star trembled, and beside 
whose banks the green herbage waved, that the demon 
shadows fell dark and dread. 

Thus safe and thus awful, lived Hilda ; and under her 
care, a rose beneath the funeral cedar, bloomed her grand- 
child Edith, goddaughter of the Lady of England. 

It was the anxious wish, both of Edward and his virgin 
wife, pious as himself, to save this orphan from the con- 
tamination of a house more than suspected of heathen faith, 
and give to her youth the refuge of the convent. But this, 
without her guardian’s consent or her own expressed will, 
could not be legally done ; and Edith as yet had expressed 
no desire to disobey her grandmother, who treated the idea 
of the convent with lofty scorn. 

This beautiful child grew up under the influence, as it 
were, of two contending creeds ; all her notions on both 
were necessarily confused and vague. But her heart was 
so genuinely mild, simple, tender, and devoted — there was 
in her so much of the inborn excellence of the sex, that in 
every impulse of that heart struggled for clearer light and 
for purer air the unquiet soul. In manner, in thought, and 
in person as yet almost an infant, deep in her heart lay yet 
one woman’s secret, known scarcely to herself, but which 
taught her, more powerfully than Hilda’s proud and scoff- 
ing tongue, to shudder at the thought of the barren cloister 
and the eternal vow. 


HAROLD 


19 


CHAPTER III 

While King Edward wrs narrating to the Norman Duke 
all that he knew, and all that he knew not, of Hilda’s 
history and secret arts, the road wound through lands as 
wild and wold-like as if the metropolis of England lay a 
hundred miles distant. Even to this day patches of such 
land in the neighbourhood of Norwood may betray what 
the country was in the old time : when a mighty forest, 
^ abounding with w ild beasts ’ — ‘ the bull and the boar ’ — 
skirted the suburbs of London, and afforded pastime to 
king and thegn. For the Norman kings have been maligned 
by the popular notion, that assigns to them all the odium 
of the forest laws. Harsh and severe were those laws in 
the reign of the Anglo-Saxon ; as harsh and severe, per- 
haps, against the ceorl and the poor man, as in the days of 
Rufus, though more mild unquestionably to the nobles. 
To all beneath the rank of abbot and thegn, the king’s 
woods were made, even by the mild Confessor, as sacred 
as the groves of the Druids : and no less penalty than that 
of life was incurred by the low-born huntsman who violated 
their recesses. 

Edward’s only mundane passion was the chase ; and a 
day rarely passed, but what after mass he went forth with 
hawk or hound. So that, though the regular season for 
haw king did not commence till October, he had ever on his 
wrist some young falcon to essay, or some old favourite to 
exercise. And now, just as William was beginning to 
grow weary of his good cousin’s prolix recitals, the hounds 
suddenly gave tongue, and from a sedge-growui pool by the 
wayside, with solemn wing and harsh boom, rose a bittern. 

‘ Holy St. Peter ! ’ exclaimed the Saint-king, spurring his 
palfrey, and loosing his famous Peregrine falcon. William 
was not slow in following that animated example, and the 
whole company rode at half speed across the rough forest- 
land, straining their eyes upon the soaring quarry and the 
large wheels of the falcons. Riding thus, with his eyes in 
the air, Edw^ard was nearly pitched over his palfrey’s head, 
as the animal stopped suddenly, checked by a high gate, 
set deep in a half embattled wall of brick and rubble. 
Upon this gate sate, quite unmoved and apathetic, a tall 
ceorl, or labourer, w'hile behind it was a gazing curious 
group of men of the same rank, clad in those blue tunics 
of w hich our peasant’s smock is the successor, and leaning 
on scythes and flails. Sour and ominous were the looks 


20 


HAROLD 


they bent upon that Norman cavalcade. The men were at 
least as well clad as those of the same condition are now ; 
and their robust limbs and ruddy cheeks showed no lack of 
the fare that supports labour. Indeed, the working man of 
that day, if not one of the absolute theowes or slaves, was, 
physically speaking, better off, perhaps, than he has ever 
since been in England, more especially if he appertained to 
some wealthy thegn of pure Saxon lineage, whose very title 
of lord came to him in his quality of dispenser of bread ; and 
these men had been ceorls under Harold, son of Godw in, 
now banished from the land. 

^Open the gate, open quick, my merry men,’ said the 
gentle Edward (speaking in Saxon, though with a strong 
foreign accent), after he had recovered his seat, murmured 
a benediction, and crossed himself three times. The men 
stirred not. 

^No horse tramps the seeds we have sown for Harold 
the Earl to reap,’ said the ceorl, doggedly, still seated on 
the gate. And tlie group behind him gave a shout of 
applause. 

Moved more than he ever had been known to be before, 
Edward spurred his steed up to the boor, and lifted his 
hand. At that signal tw'enty swords flashed in the air 
behind, as the Norman nobles spurred to the place. Put- 
ting back with one hand his fierce attendants, Edward shook 
the other at the Saxon. ^ Knave, knave,’ he cried, ‘ I 
would hurt you, if 1 could ! ’ 

There was something in these words, fated to drift down 
into history, at once ludicrous and touching. The Normans 
saw them only in the former light, and turned aside to 
conceal their laughter ; the Saxon felt them in the latter, 
and truer sense, and stood rebuked. That great king, 
whom he now recognised, wdth all those drawn swords at 
his back, could not do him hurt; that king had not the 
heart to hurt him. The ceorl sprang from the gate and 
opened it, bending low. 

^Ride first. Count William, my cousin,’ said the Kiiiff, 
calmly. 

The Saxon' ceorl’s eyes glared as he heard the Norman’s 
name uttered in the Norman tongue, but he kept open the 
gate, and the train passed through, Edward lingering last. 
Then said the King in a low voice — 

^Bold man, thou spokest of Harold the Earl and his 
harvests ; knowest thou not that his lands have passed 
from him, and that he is outlawed, and his harvests are not 
for the scythes of his ceorls to reap ? ’ 

^ May it please you, dread Lord and King,’ replied the 




HAROLD 21 

Saxon, simply, Hhese lands that were Harold the Earl’s, 
are now Clapa’s, the sixhaendman’s/ 

' How is that ? ’ quoth Edward, hastily ; ^ we gave them 
neither to sixhaendman nor to Saxon. All the lands of 
Harold hereabout were divided amongst sacred abbots and 
noble chevaliers — Normans all.’ 

^Fulke the Norman had these fair fields, yon orchards 
and tynen ; Fulke sold them to Clapa, the Earl’s sixhsend- 
man, and what in mancusses and pence Clapa lacked of 
the price, we, the ceorls of the Earl, made up from our own 
earnings in the Earl’s noble service. And this very day, in 
token thereof, have we quaffed the bedden ale. Wherefore, 
please God and our Lady, we hold these lands part and 
parcel with Clapa ; and when Earl Harold comes again, as 
come he will, here at least he will have his own.’ 

Edward, who, despite a singular simplicity of character, 
which at times seemed to border on imbecility, was by no 
means wanting in penetration when his attention was fairly 
roused, changed countenance at this proof of rough and 
homely affection on the part of these men to his banished 
earl and brother-in-law. He mused a little while in grave 
thought, and then said, kindly — 

^ Well, man, I think not the worse of you for loyal love 
to your thegn, but there are those who would do so, and I 
advise you, brotherlike, that ears and nose are in peril if 
thou talkest thus indiscreetly.’ 

^ Steel to steel, and hand to hand,’ said the Saxon, bluntly, 
touching the long knife in his leathern belt, ‘ and he who 
sets gripe on Sexwolf son of Elfhelm, shall pay his weregeld 
twice over.’ 

^ Forewarned, foolish man, thou art forewarned. Peace,’ 
said the King ; and, shaking his head, he rode on to join 
the Normans, who now, in a broad field, where the corn 
sprang green, and which they seemed to delight in wantonly 
trampling, as they curvetted their steeds to and fro, watched 
the movements of the bittern and the pursuit of the two 
falcons. 

^ A wager. Lord King ! ’ said a prelate, whose strong 
family likeness to William proclaimed him to be the Duke’s 
bold and haughty brother, Odo, bishop of Bayeux ‘ a 
wager. My steed to your palfrey that the Duke’s falcon 
first fixes the bittern.’ 

^Holy father,’ answered Edward, in that slight change 
of voice which alone showed his displeasure, ^ these wagers 
all savour of heathenesse, and our canons forbid them to 
mone and priest. Go to, it is naught.’ 

The bishop, who brooked no rebuke, even from- his 


22 


HAROLD 


terrible brother, knit his brows, and was about to make no 
gentle rejoinder, when William, whose profound craft or 
sagacity was always at watch, lest his followers should 
displease the King, interposed, and taking the word out 
of the prelate’s mouth, said — 

^ Thou reprovest us well, Sir and King ; we Normans 
are too inclined to such levities. And see, your falcon is 
first in pride of place. By the bones of St. Valery, how 
nobly he towers ! See him cover the bittern ! — see him 
rest on the wing ! — Down he swoops ! Gallant bird ! ’ 

^With his heart split in two on the bittern’s bill,’ said 
the bishop ; and down, rolling one over the other, fell 
bittern and hawk, while ^Villiam’s Norway falcon, smaller 
of size than the King’s, descended rapidly, and hovered 
over the two. Both M'ere dead. 

‘ I accept the omen,’ muttered the gazing Duke ; ^ let 
the natives destroy each other ! ’ He placed his whistle to 
his lips, and his falcon flew back to his wrist. 

^ Now home,’ said King Edward. 


CHAPTER IV 

The royal party entered London by the great bridge which 
‘divided Southwark from the capital ; and we must pause to 
gaze a moment on the animated scene which the immemorial 
thoroughfare presented. 

The whole suburb before entering Southwark was rich in 
orchards and gardens, lying round the detached houses of 
the wealthier merchants and citizens. Approaching the 
river-side, to the left, the eye might see the tw'o circular 
spaces set apart, the one for bear, the other for bull-baiting. 
To the right, upon a green mound of waste, within sight of 
the populous bridge, the gleemen were exercising their art. 
Here one dexterous juggler threw three balls and three 
knives alternately in the air, catching them one by one as 
they fell. There, another was gravely leading a great bear 
to dance on its hind legs, while his coadjutor kept time 
with a sort of flute or flageolet. The lazy bystanders, in 
great concourse, stared and laughed ; but the laugh was 
hushed at the tramp of the Norman steeds ; and the famous 
Count by the King’s side, as, with a smiling lip, but ob- 
servant eye, he rode along, drew all attention from the bear. 

On now approaching that bridge which, not many years 
before, had been the scene of terrible contest betwe’en the 


HAROLD 


23 


invading Danes and Ethelred’s ally, Olave of Norway, you 
might still see, though neglected and already in decay, the 
double fortifications that had wisely guarded that vista into 
the city. On both sides of the bridge, which was of wood, 
were forts, partly of timber, partly of stone, and breast- 
works, and by the forts a little chapel. The bridge, broad 
enough to admit two vehicles abreast, was crowded with 
passengers, and lively with stalls and booths. Here was 
the favourite spot of the popular ballad-singer. Here, too, 
might be seen the swarthy Saracen, with wares from Spain 
and Afric. Here, the German merchant from the Steel-yard 
swept along on his way to his suburban home. Here, on 
some holy office, went quick the muffled monk. Here, the 
city gallant paused to laugh with the country girl, her 
basket full of May-boughs and cowslips. In short, all 
bespoke that activity, whether in business or pastime, 
which was destined to render that city the mart of the 
world, and which had already knit the trade of the Anglo- 
Saxon to the remoter corners of commercial Europe. TTie 
deep dark eye of William dwelt admiringly on the bustling 
groups, on the broad river, and the forest of masts which 
rose by the indented marge near Belin’s gate. And he to 
whom, whatever his faults, or rather crimes, to the unfor- 
tunate people he not only oppressed but deceived — London 
at least may yet be grateful, not only for chartered franchise, 
but for advancing, in one short vigorous reign, her com- 
merce and wealth, beyond what centuries of Anglo-Saxon 
domination, with its inherent feebleness, had effected, ex- 
claimed aloud : 

^ By rood and mass, O dear King, thy lot hath fallen on 
a goodly heritage ! ’ 

^Hem!’ said Edward, lazily; ^thou knowest not how 
troublesome these Saxons are. And while thou speakest, 
lo, in yon shattered walls, built first, they say, by Alfred of 
holy memory, are the evidences of the Danes. Bethink 
thee how often they have sailed up this river. How know 
I hut what the next year the raven flag may stream over 
these waters ? Magnus of Denmark hath already claimed 
my crown as heir to the royalties of Canute, and ’ (here 
Edward hesitated), ‘ Godwin and Harold, whom alone of 
my thegns, Dane and Northman fear, are far away.’ 

Miss not them, Edward, my cousin,’ cried the Duke, in 
haste. ^Send for me if danger threat thee. Ships enow 
await thy best in my new port of Cherbourg. And I tell 
thee this for thy comfort, that were I king of the English, 
and lord of this river, the citizens of London might sleep 
from vespers to prime, without fear of the Dane. Never 


24 


HAROLD 


again should the raven flag be seen by this bridge ! Never, 
I swear, by the Splendour Divine ! ’ 

Not without purpose spoke William thus stoutly ; and he 
turned on the King those glittering eyes (micanies oculos), 
which the chroniclers have praised and noted. For it was 
his hope and his aim in this visit, that his cousin Edward 
should formally promise him that goodly heritage of Eng- 
land. But the King made no rejoinder, and they now' 
neared the end of the bridge. 

^What old ruin looms yonder.^’ asked William, hiding 
his disappointment at Edward’s silence ; ^ it seemeth the 
remains of some stately keape, which, by its fashion, I 
should pronounce Roman.’ 

^ Ay ! ’ said Edward, ^ it is said to have been built by the 
Romans ; and one of the old Lombard freemasons employed 
on my new palace of Westminster, giveth that, and some 
others in my domain, the name of the Juillet Tower.’ 

^ Those Romans were our masters in all things gallant 
and wise,’ said William ; ^ and I predict that, some day or 
other, on that site, a King of England will re-erect palace 
and tower. And yon castle towards the west } ’ 

^Is the Tower Palatine, where our predecessors have 
lodged, and ourself sometimes ; but the sweet loneliness 
of Thorney Isle pleaseth me more now.’ 

Thus talking, they entered London, a rude, dark city, 
built mainly of timbered houses ; streets narrow and wind- 
ing ; w indows rarely glazed, but protected chiefly by linen 
blinds ; vistas opening, however, at times into broad spaces, 
round the various convents, where green trees grew up 
behind low palisades. Tall roods, and holy images, to 
which we ow'e the names of existing thoroughfares (Rood- 
lane and Lady-lane), where the ways crossed, attracted the 
curious and detained the pious. Spires there w'ere not 
then, but blunt, cone-headed turrets, pyramidal, denoting 
the Houses of God, rose often from the low, thatched, and 
reeded roofs. But every now and then, a scholar’s, if not 
an ordinary eye could behold the relics of Roman splendour, 
traces of that elder city which now lies buried under our 
thoroughfares, and of which, year by year, are dug up the 
stately skeletons. 

Along the Thames still rose, though much mutilated, the 
wall of Constantine. Round the humble and barbarous 
Church of St. Paul’s (wherein lay the dust of Sebba, that 
king of the East Saxons who quitted his throne for the sake 
of Christ, and of Edward’s feeble and luckless father, Ethel- 
red) might be seen, still gigantic in decay, the ruins of the 
vast temple of Diana. Many a church, and many a convent. 


HAROLD 


25 


pierced their mingled brick and timber work with Roman 
capital and shaft. Still by the tower, to which was after 
wards given the Saracen name of Barbican, were the wrecks 
of the Roman station, where cohorts watched night and day, 
in case of fire within or foe without. 

In a niche, near the Aldersgate, stood the headless statue 
of Fortitude, which monks and pilgrims deemed some un- 
known saint in the old time, and halted to honour. And 
in the midst of Bishopsgate-street, sate on his desecrated 
throne a mangled Jupiter, his eagle at his feet. Many 
a half-converted Dane there lingered, and mistook the 
Thunderer and the bird for Odin and his hawk. By Leod- 
gate (the People’s gate) still too were seen the arches of one 
of those mighty aqueducts which the Roman learned from 
the Etrurian. And close by the Still-yard, occupied by ^ the 
Emperor’s cheap men ’ (the German merchants), stood, 
almost entire, the Roman temple, extant in the time of 
Geoffrey of Monmouth. Without the walls, the old Roman 
vineyards still put forth their green leaves and crude clusters, 
in the plains of East Smithfield, in the fields of St. Giles’s, 
and on the site where now stands Hatton Garden. Still 
massere and cheapmen chaffered and bargained, at booth 
and stall, in Mart-lane, where the Romans had bartered 
before them. With every encroachment on new soil, within 
the walls and without, urn, vase, weapon, human bones, 
were shovelled out, and lay disregarded amidst heaps of 
rubbish. 

Not on such evidences of the past civilisation looked the 
practical eye of the Norman Count ; not on things, but on 
men, looked he ; and as silently he rode on from street 
to street, out of those men, stalwart and tall, busy, active, 
toiling, the Man-Ruler saw the Civilisation that was to come. 

So, gravely through the small city, and over the bridge 
that spanned the little river of the Fleet, rode the train 
along the Strand ; to the left, smooth sands ; to the right, 
fair pastures below green holts, thinly studded with houses ; 
over numerous cuts and inlets running into the river, rode 
they on. The hour and the season were those in which 
youth enjoyed its holiday, and gay groups resorted to the 
then fashionable haunts of the Fountain of Holywell, 
^streaming forth among glistening pebbles.’ 

So they gained at length the village of Charing, which 
Edward had lately bestowed on his Abbey of Westminster, 
and which was now filled with workmen, native and foreign, 
employed on that edifice and the contiguous palace. Here 
they loitered a while at the Mews (where the hawks were 
kept), passed by the rude palace of stone and rubble, appro- 


26 


HAROLD 


priated to the tributary kings of Scotland— a gift from Edgar 
to Kenneth — and finally, reaching the inlet of the river, 
which, winding round the Isle of Thorney (now West- 
minster), separated the rising church, abbey, and palace, 
of the Saint-king from the mainland, dismounted — and 
were ferried across the narrow stream to the broad space 
round the royal residence. 


CHAPTER V 

The new palace of Edward the Confessor, the palace of 
Westminster, opened its gates to receive the Saxon King 
and the Norman Duke, remounting on the margin of the 
isle, and now riding side by side. And as the Duke glanced 
from brows, habitually knit, first over the pile, stately 
though not yet completed, with its long rows of round 
arched windows, cased by indented fringes and fraet (or 
tooth) work, its sweep of solid columns with circling cloisters, 
and its ponderous powers of simple grandeur ; then over the 
groups of courtiers, wdth close vests and short mantles and 
beardless cheeks, that filled up the wide space, to gaze in 
homage on the renowned guest, his heart swelled within 
him, and, checking his rein, he drew near to his brother of 
Bayeux, and whispered — 

^ Is not this already the court of the Norman ? Behold 
yon nobles and earls, how they mimic our garb ! behold the 
very stones in yon gate, how they range themselves, as 
if carved by the hand of the Norman mason ! Verily and 
indeed, brother, the shadow' of the rising sun rests already 
on these halls.’ 

‘ Had England no people,’ said the bishop, ^ England w'ere 
yours already. But saw you not, as w'e rode along, the 
lowering brows ? and heard you not the angry murmurs ? 
The villeins are many, and their hate is strong.’ 

^Strong is the roan I bestride,’ said the Duke ; ^but a 
bold rider curbs it wdth the steel of the bit, and guides it, 
with the goad of the heel.’ 

And now, as they neared the gate, a band of minstrels in 
the pay of the Norman touched their instruments, and woke 
their song — the household song of the Norman — the battle 
hymn of Roland, the Paladin of Charles the Great. At the 
first word of the song, the Norman knights and youths 
profusely scattered amongst the Normanised Saxons caught 
up the lay, and with sparkling eyes, and choral voices, they 
welcomed the mighty Duke into the palace of the last meek 
successor of Woden. 


HAROLD 


27 


By tlie porch of the inner court the Duke flung himself 
from his saddle, and held the stirrup for Edward to dis- 
mount. The King placed his hand gently on his guest’s 
hroad shoulder, and having somewhat slowly reached the 
ground, embraced and kissed him in the sight of the gor- 
geous assemblage ; then led him by the hand towards the 
fair chamber which v^as set apart for the Duke, and so left 
him to his attendants. 

William, lost in thought, suffered himself to he disrobed 
in silence ; but when Fitzosborne, his favourite confidant 
and haughtiest baron, who yet deemed himself but honoured 
by personal attendance on his chief, conducted him towards 
the bath, which adjoined the chamber, he drew back, and 
wrapping round him more closely the gown of fur that had 
been thrown over his shoulders, he muttered low — ^Nay, 
if there be on me yet one speck of English dust, let it rest 
there ! — seizin, Fitzosborne, seizin, of the English land.’ 
Then, waving his hand, he dismissed all his attendants 
except Fitzosborne, and Rolf, Earl of Hereford, nephew to 
Edward, hut French on the father’s side, and thoroughly 
in the Duke’s councils. Twice the Duke paced the chamber 
without vouchsafing a word to either, then paused by the 
round window that overlooked the Thames. The scene 
was fair ; the sun towards its decline glittered on numer- 
ous small pleasure-boats, which shot to and fro between 
Westminster and London, or towards the opposite shores 
of Lambeth. His eye sought eagerly, along the curves of 
the river, the grey remains of the fabled Tower of Julius, 
and the walls, gates, and turrets, that rose by the stream, 
or above the dense mass of silent roofs ; then it strained 
hard to descry the tops of the more distant masts of that 
infant navy, fostered under Alfred, the far-seeing, for the 
future civilisation of wastes unknown, and the empire of 
seas untracked. 

The Duke breathed hard, and opened and closed the hand 
w hich he stretched forth into space as if to grasp the city he 
beheld. ^ Rolf,’ said he, abruptly, thou knowest, no doubt, 
the wealth of the London traders, one and all ; for, foi de 
Guillaume, my gentil chevalier, thou art a true Norman, and 
scentest the smell of gold as a hound the boar ! ’ 

Rolf smiled, as if pleased with a compliment which 
simpler men might have deemed, at the best, equivocal, and 
replied — 

‘ It is true, my liege ; and gramercy, the air of England 
sharpens the scent ; for in this villein and motley country, 
made up of all races — Saxon and Fin, Dane and Fleming, 
Piet and Walloon — it is not as with us, whej*e the brave 


28 


HAROLD 


man and the pure descent are held chief in honour ; here, 
gold and land are, in truth, name and lordship ; even their 
popular name for their national assembly of the Witan is, 
^^The Wealthy.” He who is but a ceorl to-day, let him be 
rich,fand he may be earl to-morrow, marry in king’s blood, 
and rule armies under a gonfanon statelier than a king’s ! 
while he whose fathers were ealdermen and princes, if, by 
force or by fraud, by waste or by largess, he become poor, 
falls at once into contempt, and out of his state — sinks into 
a class they call six-hundred men,” in their barbarous 
tongue, and his children will probably sink still lower, into 
ceorls. Wherefore gold is the thing here most coveted ; 
and, by St. Michael, the sin is infectious.’ 

William listened to the speech with close attention. 

' Good,’ said he, rubbing slowly the palm of his right hand 
over the back of the left ; ‘ a land all compact with the 
power of one race, a race of conquering men, as our fathers 
were, whom nought but cowardice or treason can degrade — 
such a land, O Rolf of Hereford, it were hard indeed to sub- 
jugate, or decoy, or tame ’ 

^ So has my lord the Duke found the Bretons ; and so also 
do 1 find the Welch upon my marches of Hereford.’ 

^But,’ continued William, not heeding the interruption, 
‘ where wealth is more than blood and race, chiefs may be 
bribed or menaced; and the multitude — by’r Lady, the 
multitude are the same in all lands, mighty under valiant 
and faithful leaders, powerless as sheep without them. But 
to my question, my gentle Rolf ; this London must be 
rich ? ’ 

^ Rich enow,’ answered Rolf, ^ to coin into armed men, 
that should stretch from Rouen to Flanders on the one 
hand, and Paris on the other.’ 

^ In the veins of Matilda, whom thou wooest for wife,’ said 
Fitzosborne, abruptly, ‘^flows the blood of Charlemagne. God 
grant his empire to the children she shall bear thee ! ’ 

The Duke bowed his head, and kissed a relic suspended 
from his throat. Further sign of approval of his coun- 
sellor’s words he gave not, but after a pause, he said — 

' When I depart, Rolf, thou wendest back to thy marches. 
These AFelch are brave and fierce, and shape work enow for 
thy hands.’ 

^Ay, by my halidame ! poor sleep by the side of the 
beehive you have stricken down.’ 

^ Marry, then,’ said William, Met the Welch prey on 
Saxon, Saxon on Welch ; let neither win too easily. Re- 
member our omens to-day, W elch hawk and Saxon bittern, 
and over their corpses, Duke William’s Norway falcon ! 
Now dress we for the complin and the banquet.’ 


LANFRANC THE SCHOLAR 


CHAPTER I 

Four meals a day, nor those sparing, were not deemed too 
extravagant an interpretation of the daily bread for which 
the Saxon prayed. Four meals a day, from earl to ceorl ! 
^ Happy times ! ’ may sigh the descendant of the last, if 
he read these pages ; partly so they were for the ceorl, 
but not in all things, for never sweet is the food, and never 
gladdening is the drink, of servitude. Inebriety, the vice 
of the warlike nations of the North, had not, perhaps, been 
the pre-eminent excess of the earlier Saxons, while yet the 
active and fiery Britons, and the subsequent petty wars 
between the kings of the Heptarchy, enforced on hardy 
warriors the safety of temperance ; but the example of the 
Danes had been fatal. Those giants of the sea, like all who 
pass from great vicissitudes of toil and repose, from the 
tempest to tlie haven, snatched with full hands every plea- 
sure in their reach. With much that tended permanently 
to elevate the character of the Saxon, they imparted much 
for a time to degrade it. The Anglian learned to feast to 
repletion, and drink to delirium. But such were not the 
vices of the court of the Confessor. Brought up from his 
youth in the cloister-camp of the Normans, what he loved 
in their manners was the abstemious sobriety, and the cere- 
monial religion, which distinguished those sons of the 
Scandinavian from all other kindred tribes. 

The Norman position in France, indeed, in much re- 
sembled that of the Spartan in Greece. He had forced a 
settlement with scanty numbers in the midst of a subjugated 
and sullen population, surrounded by jealous and formid- 
able foes. Hence sobriety was a condition of his being, 
and the policy of the chief lent a willing ear to the lessons 
of the preacher. Like the Spartan, every Norman of pure 


30 


HAROLD 


race was free and noble ; and this consciousness inspired 
not only that remarkable dignity of mien which Spartan 
and Norman alike possessed, but also that fastidious self- 
respect which M'ould have revolted from exhibiting a spec- 
tacle of debasement to inferiors. And, lastly, as the 
paucity of their original numbers, the perils that beset, and 
the good fortune that attended them, served to render the 
Spartans the most religious of all the Greeks in their 
dependence on the Divine aid ; so, perhaps, to the same 
causes may be traced the proverbial piety of the ceremonial 
Normans ; they carried into their new creed something of 
feudal loyalty to their spiritual protectors ; did homage to 
the Virgin for the lands that she vouchsafed to bestow, and 
recognised in St. Michael the chief M^ho conducted their 
armies. 

After hearing the complin vespers in the temporary 
chapel fitted up in that unfinished abbey of W estminster, 
which occupied the site of the temple of Apollo, the King 
and his guests repaired to their evening meal in the great 
hall of the palace. Below the dais were ranged three long 
tables for the knights in William’s train, and that flower of 
the Saxon nobility who, fond, like all youth, of change and 
imitation, thronged the court of their Normanised saint, 
and scorned the rude patriotism of their fathers. But 
hearts truly English were not there. Yea, many of God- 
win’s noblest foes sighed for the English-hearted Earl, 
banished by Norman guile on behalf of English law. 

At the oval table on the dais the guests were select and 
chosen. At the right hand of the King sat William ; at 
the left Odo of Bayeux. Over these three stretched a 
canopy of cloth of gold ; the chairs on which each sate were 
of metal, richly gilded over, and the arms carved in elabo- 
rate arabesques. At this table too was the King’s nephew, 
the Earl of Hereford, and, in right of kinsmanship to the 
Duke, the Norman’s beloved baron and grand seneschal, 
William Fitzosborne, who, though in Normandy even he 
sate not at the Duke’s table, was, as related to his lord, 
invited by Edward to his own. No other guests were 
admitted to this board, so that, save Edward, all were 
Norman. The dishes were of gold and silver, the cups 
inlaid vuth jewels. Before each guest was a knife, with 
hilt adorned by precious stones, and a napkin fringed with 
silver. The meats were not placed on the table, but served 
upon small spits, and between every course a basin of per- 
fumed water was borne round by high-born pages. No 
dame graced the festival; for she who should have pre- 
sided — she, matchless for beauty without pride, piety 


HAROLD 


31 


without asceticism, and learning without pedantry — she, 
the pale rose of England, loved daughter of Godwin, and 
loathed wife of Edward, had shared in the fall of her 
kindred, and had been sent by the meek king, or his fierce 
counsellors, to an abbey in Hampshire, with the taunt 
^that it was not meet that the child and sister should 
enjoy state and pomp, while the sire and brethren ate the 
bread of the stranger in banishment and disgrace/ 

But, hungry as were the guests, it was not the custom 
of that holy court to fall-to without due religious cere- 
monial. The rage for psalm-singing was then at its height 
in England ; psalmody had excluded almost every other 
description of vocal music ; and it is even said that great 
festivals on certain occasions were preluded by no less an 
effort of lungs and memory than the entire songs bequeathed 
to us by King David ! This day, however, Hugoline, 
Edward’s Norman chamberlain, had been pleased to abridge 
the length of the prolix grace, and the company were let 
off, to Edward’s surprise and displeasure, with the curt and 
unseemly preparation' of only nine psalms and one special 
hymn in honour of some obscure saint to whom the day was 
dedicated. This performed, the guests resumed their seats, 
Edward murmuring an apology to Willian for the strange 
omission of his chamberlain, and saying thrice to himself, 
‘ Naught, naught — very naught. ’ 

The mirth languished at the royal table, despite some gay 
efforts from Rolf, and some hollow attempts at light-hearted 
cheerfulness from the great Duke, whose eyes, wandering 
down the table, were endeavouring to distinguish Saxon 
from Norman, and count how many of the first might 
already be reckoned in the train of his friends. But at the 
long tables below, as the feast thickened, and ale, mead, 
pigment, morat, and wine circled round, the tongue of the 
Saxon was loosed, and the Norman knight lost somewhat 
of his superb gravity. It was just as what a Danish poet 
called the ‘^sun of the night’ (in other words, the fierce 
warmth of the wine), had attained its meridian glow, that 
some slight disturbance at the doors of the hall, without 
which waited a dense crowd of the poor on whom the frag- 
ments of the feast w'ere afterwards to be bestowed, was 
followed by the entrance of two strangers, for whom the 
officers appointed to marshal the entertainment made room 
at the foot of one of the tables. Both these new-comers 
were clad with extreme plainness ; one in a dress, though 
not quita monastic, that of an ecclesiastic of low degree ; 
the other in a long grey mantle and loose gonna, the train 
of which last was tucked into a broad leathern belt, leaving 


32 


HAROLD 


bare the leggings, which showed limbs of great bulk and 
sinew, and which w^ere stained by the dust and mire of 
travel. The first mentioned was slight and small of person ; 
the last was of the height and port of the sons of Anak. 
The countenance of neither could be perceived, for both 
had let fall the hood, worn by civilians as by priests out of 
doors, more than half way over their faces. 

A murmur of great surprise, disdain, and resentment, at 
the intrusion of strangers so attired, circulated round the 
neighbourhood in which they had been placed, cliecked for 
a moment by a certain air of respect which the officer had 
shown towards both, but especially the taller ; but breaking 
out with greater vivacity from the faint restraint, as the 
tall man unceremoniously stretched across the board, drew 
towards himself an immense flagon, which (agreeably to 
the custom of arranging the feast in ^ messes ' of four), 
had been specially appropriated to Ulf the Dane, Godrith 
the Saxon, and two young Norman knights akin to the 
puissant Lord of Grantmesnil — and having offered it to his 
comrade, who shook his head, drained it with a gusto that 
seemed to bespeak him at least no Norman, and wiped his 
lips boorishly witli the sleeve of his huge arm. 

^ Dainty sir,’ said one of those Norman knights, W’illiam 
Mallet, of the house of Mallet de Graville, as he moved as 
far from the gigantic intruder as the space on the settle 
would permit, ^forgive the observation that you have 
damaged my mantle, you have grazed my foot, and you 
have drunk my wine. And vouchsafe, if it so please you, 
the face of the man who hath done this triple wrong to 
William Mallet de Graville.’ 

A kind of laugh — for laugh absolute it was not — rattled 
under the cowl of the tall stranger, as he drew it still closer 
over his face, with a hand that might have spanned the 
breast of his interrogator, and he made a gesture as if he 
did not understand the question addressed to him. 

ITierewith the Norman knight, bending with demure 
courtesy across the board to Godrith the Saxon, said — 

^ Pardex, but this fair guest and seigneur seemeth to 
me, noble Godree (whose name I fear my lips do but 
rudely enounce), of Saxon line and language ; our Romance 
tongue he knoweth not. Pray you, is it the Saxon custom 
to enter a king’s hall so garbed, and drink a knight’s wine 
so mutely ? ’ 

Godrith, a young Saxon of considerable rank, but one of 
the most sedulous of the imitators of the foreign fashions, 
coloured high at the irony in the knight’s speech, and 
turning rudely to the huge guest, who was now causing 


HAROLD 


83 


immense fragments of pasty to vanish under the cavernous 
cowl, he said in his native tongue, though with a lisp as if 
unfamiliar to him, — 

‘ If thou beest Saxon, shame us not with thy ceorlish 
manners ; crave pardon of this Norman thegn, who will 
doubtless yield it to thee in pity. Uncover thy face — 
and * 

Here the Saxon’s rebuke was interrupted ; for one of the 
servitors just then approaching Godrith’s side with a spit, 
elegantly caparisoned with some score of plump larks, the 
unmannerly giant stretched out his arm within an inch of 
the Saxon’s startled nose, and possessed himself of larks, 
broche, and all. He drew off two, which he placed on his 
friend’s platter, despite all dissuasive gesticulations, and 
dep'»sited the rest upon his own. The young banqueters 
gazed upon the spectacle in wrath too full for words. 

At last spoke Mallet de Graville, with an envious eye 
upon the larks — for though a Norman w^as not gluttonous, 
he was epicurean — ^Certes, and foi de chevalier! a man 
must go into strange parts if he wish to see monsters ; but 
we are fortunate people’ (and he turned to his Norman 
friend, Aymer, Quen or Count, D’Evreux), ^ that we have 
discovered Polyphemus without going so far as Ulysses ’ ; 
and pointing to the hooded giant, he quoted, appropriately 
enough, 

‘ Monstrum, horrendum, informe, ingens, cui lumen ademptum.’ 

The giant continued to devour his larks, as complacently 
as the ogre to whom he was likened might have devoured 
the Greeks in his cave. But his fellow-intruder seemed 
agitated by the sound of the Latin ; he lifted up his head 
suddenly, and showed lips glistening with w^hite even 
teeth, and curved into an approving smile, while he said : 
^ Bene^ my jili ! bene, lepidissime, poetce verba, in rnilitis ore, 
non indecora sonant! ^ 

The young Norman stared at the speaker, and replied, in 
the same tone of grave affectation, — ^ Courteous Sir ! the 
approbation of an ecclesiastic so eminent as I take you to 
be, from the modesty with which you conceal your great- 
ness, cannot fail to draw upon me the envy of my English 
friends ; w ho are accustomed to sw'ear in verba magistri, 
only for verba they learnedly substitute vina.' 

^ You are pleasant. Sire Mallet,’ said Godrith, reddening ; 
^ but I know well that Latin is only fit for monks and shave- 
lings ; and little enow even they have to boast of.’ 

1 ‘ Good, good, pleasant son — the words of the poet sound grace- 
fully on the lips of the knight.’ 

c 


34 


HAROLD 


The Norman’s lip curled in disdain. ‘ Latin ! — 0, 
Godree, bien aim6 ! — Latin is the tongue of Caesars and 
senators, conquerors and preux chevaliers. Knowest 

thou not that Duke William the dauntless at eight years 
old had the Comments of Julius Caesar by heart — and 
that it is his saying, that '^a king without letters is a 
crowned ass ” } ^ A^^en the king is an ass, asinine are his 
subjects. Wherefore go to school, speak respectfully of 
thy betters, the monks and shavelings, who with us are 
often brave captains and sage councillors — and learn that 
a full head makes a weighty hand.’ 

^Thy name, young knight.^’ said the ecclesiastic, in 
Norman French, though with a slight foreign accent. 

‘1 can give it thee,’ said the giant, speaking aloud for 
the first time, in the same language, and in a rough voice, 
which a quick ear might have detected as disguised — 
can describe to thee name, birth, and quality. By name, 
this youth is Guillaume Mallet, sometimes styled De 
Graville, because our Norman gentilhommes, forsooth, 
must always now have a ^ de ’ tacked to their names ; 
nevertheless he hath no other right to the seigneurie of 
Graville, which appertains to the head of his house, than 
may be conferred by an old tower on one corner of the 
demesnes so designated, with lands that would feed one 
horse and two villeins — if they were not in pawn to a Jew 
for moneys to buy velvet mantelines and a chain of gold. 
By birth, he comes from Mallet, a bold Norwegian in the 
fleet of Rou the Sea-king ; his mother was a PVaiik woman, 
from whom he inherits his best possessions — videlicet, a 
shrewd wit, and a railing tongue. His qualities are abstin- 
ence, for he eateth nowhere save at the cost of another — 
some Latin, for he was meant for a monk, because he 
seemed too slight of frame for a warrior — some courage, for 
in spite of his frame he slew three Burgundians with his 
own hand ; and Duke William, among other foolish acts, 
spoilt a friar sans tache, by making a knight sans terre ; and 
for the rest ’ 

^And for the rest,’ interrupted the Sire de Graville, 
turning white with wrath, but speaking in a low repressed 
voice, ^were it not that Duke William sate yonder, thou 
shouldst have six inches of cold steel in thy huge carcase 
to digest thy stolen dinner, and silence thy unmannerly 
tongue ’ 

^ For the rest,’ continued the giant, indifferently, and as if 

1 A sentiment variously assigned to William and to his son Henry 
the Beau Clerc. 


HAROLD 


35 


he had not heard the interruption ; * for the rest, he only 
resembles Achilles, in being impiger iracundus. Big men 
can quote Latin as well as little ones, Messire Mallet the 
beau clerc I * 

Mallet’s hand was on his dagger ; and his eye dilated 
like that of the panther before he springs ; but fortunately, 
at that moment, the deep sonorous voice of William, accus- 
tomed to send its sounds doM'n the ranks of an army, 
rolled clear through the assemblage, though pitched little 
above its ordinary key : — 

' Fair is your feast, and bright your wine. Sir King and 
brother mine ! But I miss here what king and knight hold 
as the salt of the feast and the perfume to the wine : the 
lay of the minstrel. Beshrew me, but both Saxon and 
Norman are of kindred stock, and love to hear in hall and 
bower the deeds of their northern fathers. Crave I there- 
fore from your gleemen, or harpers, some song of the olden 
time !’ 

A murmur of applause went through the Norman part of 
the assembly ; the Saxons looked up ; and some of the 
more practised courtiers sighed wearily, for they knew 
well what ditties alone were in favour with the saintly 
Edward. 

The low voice of the King in reply was not heard, but 
those habituated to read his countenance in its very faint 
varieties of expression, might have seen that it conveyed 
reproof ; and its purport soon became practically known, 
when a lugubrious prelude was heard from a quarter of the 
hall, in which sate certain ghost-like musicians in white 
robes — white as winding-sheets ; and forthwith a dolorous 
and dirgelike voice chanted a long, and most tedious 
recital of the miracles and martyrdom of some early saint. 
So monotonous was the chant, that its eifect soon became 
visible in a general drowsiness. And when Edward, who 
alone listened with attentive delight, turned towards the 
close to gather sympathising admiration from his distin- 
guished guests, he saw his nephew yawning as if his jaw 
were dislocated — the Bishop of Bayeux, with his well- 
ringed fingers interlaced and resting on his stomach, fast 
asleep — Fitzosborne’s half-shaven head balancing to and 
fro with many an uneasy start — and William, wide awake 
indeed, but with eyes fixed on vacant space, and his soul 
far away from the gridiron to which (all other saints be 
praised !) the saint of the ballad had at last happily arrived. 

^ A comforting and salutary recital. Count William,’ said 
the King. 

The Duke started from his reverie, and bowed his head : 


36 HAROLD 

then said, rather abruptly, ^ Is not yon blazon that of King 
Alfred?’ 

^Yea. Wherefore?’ 

* Hem ! Matilda of Flanders is in direct descent from 
Alfred : it is a name and a line the Saxons yet honour ! ’ 

^ Surely, yes ; Alfred was a great man, and reformed the 
Psalmster/ replied Edward. 

The dirge ceased, but so benumbing had been its effect, 
that the torpor it created did not subside with the cause. 
There was a dead and funereal silence throughout the 
spacious hall, when suddenly, loudly, mightily, as the blast 
of the trumpet upon the hush of the grave, rose a single 
voice. All started — all turned — all looked to one direction ; 
and they saw that the great voice pealed from the farthest 
end of the hall. From under his gown the gigantic stranger 
had drawn a small three-stringed instrument — somewhat 
resembling the modern lute — and thus he sang, — 

THE BALLAD OF ROU. 

I. 

From Blois to Senlis, wave by wave, roll’d on the Norman flood, 

And Frank on Frank went drifting down the weltering tide of blood. 
There was not left in all the land a castle wall to fire. 

And not a wife but wailed a lord, a child but mourned a sire. 

To Charles the king, the mitred monks, the mailed barons flew. 
While, shaking earth, behind them strode the thunder march of Rou. 


II. 

‘ O King,’ then cried those barons bold, ‘in vain are mace and mail, 
We fall before the Norman axe, as corn before the hail.’ 

‘And vainly,’ cried the pious monks, ‘ by Mary’s shrine we kneel. 

For prayers, like arrows, glance aside, against the Norman steel.’ 

The barons groaned, the shavelings wept, while near and nearer drew, 
As death-birds round their scented feast, the raven flags of Rou. 

in. 

Then said King Charles, ‘ Where thousands fail, what king can stand 
alone ? 

The strength of kings is in the men that gather round the throne. 
AVhen war dismays my barons bold, ’tis time for war to cease ; 

When Heaven forsakes my pious monks, the will of Heaven is peace. 
Go forth, my monks, with mass and rood the Norman camp unto, 
And to the fold, with shepherd crook, entice this grisly Rou. 

IV, 

‘ I ’ll give him all the ocean coast, from Michael Mount to Eure, 

And Gille, my child, shall be his bride, to bind him fast and sure : 
Let him but kiss the Christian cross, and sheathe the heathen sword 
And hold the lands I cannot keep, a fief from Charles his lord.’ ’ 
Forth went the pastors of the Church, the Shepherd’s work to do. 
And wrap the golden fleece around the tiger loins of Rou : 


HAROLD 


37 


V. 

Psalm-chanting came the shaven monks, within the camp of dread ; 
Amidst his warriors, Norman Ron, stood taller by the head. 

Out spoke the Frank Archbishop then, a priest devout and sage, 

‘ When peace and plenty wait thy word, what need of war and rage ? 
Why waste a land as fair as aught beneath the arch of blue. 

Which might be thine to sow and reap ? — Thus saith the King to Rou : 


VI. 

‘“I’ll give thee all the ocean coast, from Michael Mount to Eure, 
And Gille, my fairest child, as bride, to bind thee fast and sure ; 

If thou but kneel to Christ our God, and sheathe thy paynim sword. 
And hold thy land, the Church’s son, a fief from Charles thy lord.” ’ 
The Norman on his warriors looked — to counsel they withdrew ; 

The saints took pity on the Franks, and moved the soul of Rou. 

VII. 

So back he strode and thus he spoke, to that Archbishop meek : 

‘ I take the land thy king bestows from Eure to Michael-peak, 

I take the maid, or foul or fair, a bargain with the coast. 

And for thy creed, a sea-king’s gods are those that give the most. 

So hie thee back, and tell thy chief to make his proffer true. 

And he shall find a docile son, and ye a saint in Rou.’ 

VIII. 

So o’er the border stream of Epte came Rou the Norman, where, 
Begirt with barons, sat the King, enthroned at green St. Clair ; 

He placed his hand in Charles’s hand, — loud shouted all the throng. 
But tears were in King Charles’s eyes — the grip of Rou was strong. 

‘ Now kiss the foot,’ the Bishop said, ‘ that homage stiU is due ; ’ 
Then dark the frown and stern the smile of that grim convert, Rou. 

IX. 

He takes the foot, as if the foot to slavish lips to bring ; 

The Normans scowl ; he tilts the throne, and backwards falls the 
King. 

Loud laugh the joyous Norman men — pale stare the Franks aghast ; 
And Rou lifts up his head as from the wind springs up the mast : 

‘ I said I would adore a God, but not a mortal too ; 

The foot that fied before a foe let cowards kiss ! ’ said Rou. 

No words can express the excitement which this rough 
minstrelsy — marred as it is by our poor translation from 
the llomance-tongue in wliich it was chanted — produced 
amongst the Norman guests ; less perhaps^ indeed, the 
song itself, than the recognition of the minstrel ; and as he 
closed, from more than a hundred voices came the loud 
murmur, only subdued from a shout by the royal presence, 
^ Taillefer, our Norman Taillefer ! ’ 

^ By our joint saint, Peter, my cousin the King/ exclaimed 
William, after a frank cordial laugh ; ^ well I wot, no tongue 


38 


HAROLD 


less free than my warrior minstrel's could have so shocked 
our ears. Excuse his bold theme, for the sake of his bold 
heart, I pray thee ; and since I know well ’ (here the Duke’s 
face grew grave and anxious) ^ that nought save urgent and 
weighty news from my stormy realm could have brought 
over this rhyming petrel, permit the officer behind me to 
lead hither a bird, I fear, of omen as well as of song.* 

' Whatever pleases thee, pleases me,’ said Edward, drily ; 
and he gave the order to the attendant. In a few moments, 
up to the space in the hall, between either table, came the 
large stride of the famous minstrel, preceded by the officer, 
and followed by the ecclesiastic. The hoods of both were 
now thrown back, and discovered countenances in strange 
contrast, but each equally worthy of the attention it pro- 
voked. The face of the minstrel was open and sunny as 
the day ; and that of the priest, dark and close as night. 
Thick curls of deep auburn (the most common colour for 
the locks of the IS^rman) wreathed in careless disorder 
round Taillefer’s massive unwrinkled brow. His eye, of 
light hazel, was bold and joyous ; mirth, though sarcastic 
and sly, mantled round his lips. His whole presence was 
at once engaging and heroic. 

On the other hand, the priest’s cheek was dark and 
sallow ; his features singularly delicate and refined ; his 
forehead high, but somewhat narrow, and crossed with lines 
of thought; his mien composed, modest, but not without 
calm self-confidence. Amongst that assembly of soldiers, 
noiseless, self-collected, and conscious of his surpassing 
power over swords and mail, moved the Scholar. 

William’s keen eye rested on the priest with some sur- 
prise, not unmixed with pride and ire ; but first addressing 
Taillefer, who now gained the foot of the dais, he said, with 
a familiarity almost fond — 

' Now, by’re Lady, if thou bringest not ill new's, thy gay 
face, man, is pleasanter to mine eyes than thy rough song 
to my ears. Kneel, Taillefer, kneel to King Edward, and 
with more address, rogue, than our unlucky countryman 
to King Charles.’ 

But Edward, as ill-liking the form of the giant as the 
subject of his lay, said, pushing back his seat as far as he 
could — 

^Nay, nay, we excuse thee, w'e excuse thee, tall man.’ 
Nevertheless, the minstrel still knelt, and so, wdth a look of 
profound humility, did the priest. Then both slowly rose, 
and, at a sign from the Duke, passed to the other side of 
the table, standing behind Fitzosborne’s chair. 

* Clerk,’ said William, eyeing deliberately the sallow face 


HAROLD 


39 


of the ecclesiastic ; ^ I know thee of old ; and if the Church 
have sent me an envoy, per la resplendar De, it should have 
sent me at least an abbot.’ 

‘ Hein y Hein!* said Taillefer, bluntly, ^vex not my hon 
camarade, Count of the Normans. Gramercy, thou wilt 
welcome him, peradventure, better than me ; for the singer 
tells but of discord, and the sage may restore the harmony.’ 

^ Ha ! ’ said the Duke, and the frown fell so dark over 
his eyes that the last seemed only visible by two sparks of 
fire. ^ I guess, my proud Vavasours are mutinous. Retire, 
thou and thy comrade. Await me in my chamber. The 
feast shall not flag in London because the wind blows a gale 
in Rouen.’ 

The two envoys, since so they seemed, bowed in silence 
and withdrew. 

^Nought of ill-tidings, I trust,’ ?aid Edward, who had 
not listened to the whispered communications that had 
passed between the Duke and his subjects. ^No schism 
in thy Church } The clerk seemed a peaceful man, and a 
humble.’ 

‘ An there were schism in my Church,’ said the fiery Duke, 
^ my brother of Bayeux would settle it by arguments as close 
as the gap between cord and throttle.’ 

^Ah ! thou art, doubtless, well read in the canons, holy 
Odo.^’ said the King, turning to the Bishop with more 
respect than he had yet evinced towards that gentle prelate. 

^Canons, yes. Seigneur, 1 draw them up myself for my 
flock conformably with such interpretations of the Roman 
Church as suit best with the Norman realm : and woe to 
deacon, monk, or abbot, who chooses to misconstrue them.’ 

The Bishop looked so truculent and menacing, while his 
fancy thus conjured up the possibility of heretical dissent, 
that Edward shrank from him as he had done from Taille- 
fer ; and in a few minutes after, on exchange of signals 
between himself and the Duke, who, impatient to escape, 
was too stately to testify that desire, the retirement of the 
royal party broke up the banquet ; save, indeed, that a few 
of the elder Saxons, and more incorrigible Danes, still 
steadily kept their seats, and were finally dislodged from 
their later settlements on the stone floors, to find them- 
selves, at dawn, carefully propped in a row against the 
outer walls of the palace, with their patient attendants, 
holding links, and gazing on their masters with stolid 
envy, if not of the repose at least of the drugs that had 
caused it. 


40 


HAROLD 


CHAPTER II 

^ And now/ said William, reclining on a long and narrow 
couch, with raised carved work all round it like a box (the 
approved fashion of a bed in those days), ‘ now. Sire Taille- 
fer — thy news/ 

There were then in the Duke’s chamber, the Count Fitz- 
osborne. Lord of Breteuil, surnamed ^the Proud Spirit’ — 
who, with great dignity, was holding before the brazier 
the ample tunic of linen (called dormiiorium in the Latin 
of that time, and night-rail in the Saxon tongue) in w'hich 
his lord was to robe his formidable limbs for repose — 
Taillefer, who stood erect before the Duke as a Roman 
sentry at his post — and the ecclesiastic, a little apart, with 
arms gathered under his gown, and his bright dark eyes 
fixed di the ground. 

^High and puissant my liege,’ then said Taillefer, 
gravely, and with a shade of sympathy on his large face, 
my news is such as is best told briefly : Bunaz, Count 
d’Eu and descendant of Richard Sanspeur, hath raised the 
standard of revolt.’ 

^ Go on,’ said the Duke, clenching his hand. 

' Henry, King of the French, is treating with the rebel, 
and stirring up mutiny in thy realm, and pretenders to thy 
throne.’ 

^ Ha ! ’ said the Duke, and his lip quivered ; ^ this is 
not all.’ 

^ No, my liege ! and the worst is to come. Thy uncle 
Mauger, knowing that thy heart is bent on thy speedy 
nuptials with the high and noble damsel, Matilda of 
Flanders, has broken out again in thine absence — is preach- 
ing against thee in hall and from pulpit. He declares that 
such espousals are incestuous, both as within the forbidden 
degrees, and inasmuch as Adele, the lady’s mother, was 
betrothed to thine uncle Richard ! and Mauger menaces 
excommunication if my liege pursues his suit ! So troubled 
is the realm, that I, waiting not for debate in Council, and 
fearing sinister ambassage if I did so, took ship from thy 
port of Cherbourg, and have not flagged rein, and scarce 
broken bread, till 1 could say to the heir of Rolf the Founder 
— Save thy realm from the men of mail, and thy bride from 
the knaves in serge.’ 

H4o, ho!’ cried William; then bursting forth in full 
wrath, as he sprang from the couch. Hearest thou this. 
Lord Seneschal } Seven years, the probation of the patri- 
arch, have I w'ooed and waited ; and lo, in the seventh, 


HAROLD 


41 


does a proud priest say to me, Wrench the love from thy 
heart-strings!” — Excommunicate me — we — William, the 
son of Robert the Devil ! Ha, by God’s Splendour, Mauger 
shall live to wish the father stood, in the foul fiend’s true 
likeness, by his side, rather than brave the bent brow of 
the son ! ’ 

'Dread my lord,’ said Fitzosborne, desisting from his 
employ, and rising to his feet; 'thou knowest that I am 
thy true friend and leal knight ; thou knowest how I have 
aided thee in this marriage with the lady of Flanders, and 
how gravely I think that what pleases thy fancy will guard 
thy realm ; but rather than brave the order of the Church, 
and the ban of the Pope, I would see thee wed to the poorest 
virgin in Normandy.’ 

IVilliam, who had been pacing the room, like an enraged 
lion in his den, halted in amaze at this bold speech. 

' This from thee, William Fitzosborne ! — from thee ! I 
tell thee, that if all the priests in Christendom, and all the 
barons in France, stood between me and my bride, I would 
hew my way through the midst. Foes invade my realm — 
let them ; princes conspire against me— I smile in scorn ; 
subjects mutiny — this strong hand can punish, or this large 
heart can forgive. All these are the dangers which he who 
governs men should prepare to meet ; but man has a right 
to his love, as the stag to his hind. And he who wrongs 
me here, is foe and traitor to me, not as a Norman Duke but 
as human being. Look to it — thou and thy proud barons, 
look to it ! ’ 

' Proud may thy barons be,’ said Fitzosborne, reddening, 
and with a brow that quailed not before his lord’s ; ' for 
they are the sons of those who carved out the realm of the 
Norman, and owned in Ron but the feudal chief of free 
warriors ; vassals are not villeins. And that which we hold 
our duty — whether to Church or chief— that, Duke William, 
thy proud barons will doubtless do ; nor less, believe me, 
for threats which, braved in discharge of duty and defence 
of freedom, we hold as air.’ 

The Duke gazed on his haughty subject with an eye in 
which a meaner spirit might have seen its doom. The 
veins in his broad temples swelled like cords, and a light 
foam gathered round his quivering lips. But fiery and 
fearless as William was, not less was he sagacious and 
profound. In that one man he saw the representative of 
that superb and matchless chivalry — that race of races — 
those men of men, in whom the brave acknowledge the 
highest example of valiant deeds, and the free the manliest 
assertion of noble thoughts, since the day when the last 


42 


HAROLD 


Athenian covered his head with his mantle, Jiiid mutely 
died ; and far from being the most stubborn against his 
will, it was to Fitzosborne’s paramount influence with the 
council, that he had often owed their submission to his 
wishes, and their contributions to his wars. In the very 
tempest of his wrath, he felt that the blow he longed to 
strike on that bold head would shiver his ducal throne to 
the dust. He felt too, that awful indeed was that power 
of the Church w'hich could thus turn against him the heart 
of his truest knight : and he began (for with all his out- 
ward frankness his temper was suspicious) to wrong the 
great-souled noble by the thought that he might already 
be won over by the enemies whom Mauger had arrayed 
against his nuptials. Therefore, with one of those rare 
and mighty efl*orts of that dissimulation which debased his 
character, but achieved his fortunes, he cleared his brow of 
its dark cloud, and said in a low voice, that was not with- 
out its pathos — 

* Had an angel from heaven forewarned me that William 
Fitzosborne would speak thus to his kinsman and brother 
in arms, in the hour of need and the agony of passion, I 
would have disbelieved him. Let it pass ’ 

But ere the last word was out of his lips, Fitzosborne 
had fallen on his knees before the Duke, and, clasping his 
hand, exclaimed, while the tears rolled down his swarthy 
cheek, ^ Pardon, pardon, my liege ! when thou speakest 
thus my heart melts. What thou wiliest, that will I ! 
Church or Pope, no matter. Send me to Flanders ; I will 
bring back thy bride.’ 

The slight smile that curved William’s lip showed that 
he was scarce worthy of that sublime weakness in his 
friend. But he cordially pressed the hand that grasped his 
own, and said, ^llise; thus should brother speak to brother,’ 
Then — for his wrath was only concealed, not stifled, and 
yearned for its vent — his eye fell upon the delicate and 
thoughtful face of the priest, who had watched this short 
and stormy conference in profound silence, despite Taillefer’s 
whispers to him to interrupt the dispute. ^ So, priest,’ he 
said, ^ I remember me that when Mauger before let loose 
his rebellious tongue thou didst lend thy pedant learning 
to eke out his brainless treason. Methought that I then 
banished thee my realm ? ’ 

‘Not so. Count and Seigneur,’ answered the ecclesiastic, 
with a grave but arch smile on his lip ; ‘ let me remind 
thee, that to speed me back to my native land thou didst 
paciously send me a horse, halting on three legs, and all 
lame on the fourth. Thus mounted, I met thee on my 


HAROLD 


43 


road. I saluted thee ; so did the beast, for his head well 
nigh touched the ground. Whereon I did ask thee, in a 
Latin play of w ords, to give me at least a quadruped, not a 
tripod, for my journey.^ Gracious, even in ire, and with 
relenting laugh, was thine answer. My liege, thy words 
implied banishment — thy laughter, pardon. So I stayed.’ 

Despite his wrath, William could scarcely repress a 
smile ; but, recollecting himself, he replied, more gravely, 
'Peace with this levity, priest. Doubtless thou art the 
envoy from this scrupulous Mauger, or some other of my 
gentle clergy ; and thou comest, as doubtless, with soft 
words and whining homilies. It is in vain. I hold the 
Church in holy reverence ; the pontiff knows it. But 
Matilda of Flanders I have wooed ; and Matilda of Flanders 
shall sit by my side in the halls of Rouen, or on the deck of 
my war-ship, till it anchors on a land worthy to yield a new 
domain to the son of the Sea-king.’ 

' In the halls of Rouen — and it may be on the throne of 
England — shall Matilda reign by the side of William,’ said 
the priest, in a clear, low, and emphatic voice ; ' and it was 
to tell my lord the Duke that I repent me of my first un- 
considered obeisance to Mauger as my spiritual superior ; 
that since then I have myself examined canon and pre- 
cedent ; and though the letter of the law be against thy 
spousals, it comes precisely under the category of those 
alliances to which the fathers of the Church accord dis- 
pensation : — it is to tell thee this, that I, plain Doctor of 
Laws and priest of Pavia, have crossed the seas.’ 

' Ha Rou ! — Ha Rou ! ’ cried Taillefer, with his usual 
bluffness, and laughing w ith great glee, ' why wouldst thou 
not listen to me, monseigneur ? ’ 

'If thou deceivest me not,’ said William, in surprise, 
'and thou canst make good thy w'ords, no prelate in 
Neustria, save Odo of Bayeux, shall lift his head high as 
thine.’ And here William, deeply versed in the science 
of men, bent his eyes keenly upon the unchanging and 
earnest face of the speaker. 'Ah,’ he burst out, as if 
satisfied with the survey, 'and my mind tells me that 
thou speakest not thus boldly and calmly without ground 
sufficient. Man, I like thee. Thy name? I forget it.’ 

' Lanfranc of Pavia, please you my lord ; ^called some- 
times "Lanfranc the Scholar” in thy cloister of Bee. Nor 
misdeem me, that I, humble, unmitred priest, should be 

1 Expervetusto codice, 3fS, Chron. Bee. in Vit, Lanfranc, quoted 
in the Archceologia, vol. xxxii. p. 109. The joke, which is very poor, 
seems to have turned uponpede and quadrupede ; it is a little altered 
in the text. 


44 


HAROLD 


thus bold. Ill birth I am iioble^ and my kindred stand 
near to the grace of our ghostly pontiff ; to the pontiff I 
myself am not unknown. Did 1 desire honours, in Italy I 
might seek them ; it is not so. 1 crave no guerdon for the 
service I proffer ; none but this — leisure and books in the 
Convent of Bee.’ 

^Sit down — nay, sit, man,’ said William, greatly in- 
terested, but still suspicious. ^ One riddle only I ask thee 
to solve, before I give thee all my trust, and place my very 
heart in thy hands. Why, if thou desirest not rewards, 
shouldst thou thus care to serve me — thou, a foreigner ? ’ 

A light, brilliant and calm, shone in the eyes of the 
scholar, and a blush spread over his pale cheeks. 

‘^My Lord Prince, 1 will answer in plain words. But 
first permit me to be the questioner.’ 

The priest turned towards Fitzosborne, who had seated 
himself on a stool at William’s feet, and, leaning his chin 
on his hand, listened to the ecclesiastic, not more with 
devotion to his calling, than wonder at the influence one so 
obscure was irresistibly gaining over his own martial spirit, 
and William’s iron craft. 

‘ Lovest thou not, William Lord of Breteuil, lovest thou 
not fame for the sake of fame } ’ 

^ Su7' mon dme — yes ! ’ said the Baron. 

‘^And thou, Taillefer the minstrel, lovest thou not song 
for the sake of song } ’ 

^For song alone,’ replied the mighty minstrel. ^More 
gold in one ringing rhyme than in all the coffers of 
Christendom.’ 

^And marvellest thou, reader of men’s hearts,’ said the 
scholar, turning once more to William, ^ that the student 
loves knowledge for the sake of knowledge } Born of high 
race, poor in purse, and slight of thews, betimes I found 
wealth in books, and drew strength from lore. I heard of 
the Count of Rouen and the Normans, as a prince of small 
domain, with a measureless spirit, a lover of letters, and a 
captain in war. I came to thy duchy, I noted its subjects 
and its prince, and the words of Themistocles rang in my 
ear : 1 cannot play the lute, but I can make a small state 

great.” I felt an interest in thy strenuous and troubled 
career. I believe that knouledge, to spread amongst the 
nations, must first find a nursery in the brain of kings ; and 
1 saw in the deed-doer, the agent of the thinker. In those 
espousals, on which wdth untiring obstinacy thy heart is 
set, I might sympathise with thee; perchance’ (here 
a melancholy smile flitted over the student’s pale lips), 
‘■perchance even as a lover; priest though I be now, and 


HAROLD 


45 


dead to human love, once I loved, and 1 know what it is to 
strive in hope, and to waste in despair. But my sympathy, 

I own, was more given to the prince than to the lover. It 
was natural that I, priest and foreigner, should obey at 
first the orders of Mauger, archprelate and spiritual chief, 
and the more so as the law was with him ; but when I 
resolved to stay, despite thy sentence which banished me, 

I resolved to aid thee ; for if with Mauger was the dead 
law, with thee was the living cause of man. Duke William, 
on thy nuptials with Matilda of Flanders rests thy duchy — 
rest, perchance, the mightier sceptres that are yet to come. 
Tliy title disputed, thy principality new and uiiestablished, 
thou, above all men, must link thy new race with the 
ancient line of kings and kaisars. Matilda is the descend- 
ant of Charlemagne and Alfred. Thy realm is insecure as 
long as France undermines it with plots, and threatens it 
with arms. Marry the daughter of Baldwin — and thy wife 
is the niece of Henry of France — thine enemy becomes thy 
kinsman, and must, perforce, be thine ally. This is not 
all ; it were strange, looking round this disordered royalty 
of England — a childless king, who loves thee better than 
his own blood ; a divided nobility, already adopting the 
fashions of the stranger, and accustomed to shift their faith 
from Saxon to Dane, and Dane to Saxon ; a people that has 
respect indeed for brave chiefs, but, seeing new men rise 
daily from new houses, has no reverence for ancient lines 
and hereditary names ; with a vast mass of villeins or slaves 
that have no interest in the land or its rulers ; strange, 
seeing all this, if thy day-dreams have not also beheld a 
Norman sovereign on the throne of Saxon England. And 
thy marriage with the descendant of the best and most 
beloved prince that ever ruled these realms, if it does not 
give thee a title to the land, may help to conciliate its 
affections, and to fix thy posterity in the halls of their 
mother’s kin. Have I said eno’ to prove why, for the sake 
of nations, it were wise for the pontiff to stretch the harsh 
girths of the law why I might be enabled to prove to 
the Court of Rome the policy of conciliating the love, and 
strengthening the hands, of the Norman count, who may 
so become the main prop of Christendom.^ Yea, have I 
said eno’ to prove that the humble clerk can look on mun- 
dane matters with the eye of a man who can make small 
states great ? ’ 

William remained speechless — his hot blood thrilled with 
a half superstitious awe ; so thoroughly had this obscure 
Lombard divined, detailed all the intricate meshes of that 
policy with which he himself had interwoven his pertina- 


4G 


HAROLD 


cious affection for the Flemish princess, that it seemed to 
him as if he listened to the echo of his own heart, or heard 
from a soothsayer the voice of his most secret thoughts. 

The priest continued : — 

‘ Wherefore, thus considering, I said to myself. Now has 
the time come, Lanfranc the Lombard, to prove to thee 
whether thy self-boastings have been a vain deceit, or 
whether, in this age of iron and amidst this lust of gold, 
thou, the penniless and the feeble, canst make knowledge 
and wit of more avail to the destinies of kings than armed 
men and filled treasuries. I believe in that power. I am 
ready for the test. Pause, judge from what the Lord of 
Breteuil hath said to thee, what will be the defection of thy 
lords if the Pope confirm the threatened excommunication 
of thine uncle? Thine armies will rot from thee; thy 
treasures will be like dry leaves in thy coffers ; the Duke 
of Bretagne will claim thy duchy as the legitimate heir of 
thy forefathers ; the Duke of Burgundy will league with 
the King of France, and march on thy faithless legions 
under the banner of the Church. The handwriting is on 
the walls, and thy sceptre and thy crown will pass away.’ 

William set his teeth firmly, and breathed hard. 

^But send me to Rome, thy delegate, and the thunder 
of Mauger shall fall powerless. Marry Matilda, bring her 
to thy halls, place her on thy throne, laugh to scorn the 
interdict of thy traitor uncle, and rest assured that the 
Pope shall send thee his dispensation to thy spousals, and 
his benison on thy marriage-bed. And when this be done, 
Duke William, give me not abbacies and prelacies ; multiply 
books, and stablish schools, and bid thy servant found the 
royalty of knowledge, as thou shaft found the sovereignty 
of war.’ 

The Duke, transported from himself, leaped up and 
embraced the priest with his vast arms ; he kissed his 
cheeks, he kissed his forehead, as, in those days, king 
kissed king with ^ the kiss of peace. ’ 

^Lanfranc of Pavia,’ he cried, whether thou succeed or 
fail, thou hast my love and gratitude evermore. As thou 
speakest, would I have spoken, had I been born, framed 
and reared as thou. And verily, when I hear thee, I blush 
for the boasts of my barbarous pride, that no man can 
wield my mace, or bend my bow. Poor is the strength of 
body-— a web of law can entangle it, and a word from a 
priest’s mouth can palsy. But thou ! — let me look at thee.’ 

William gazed on the pale face ; from head to foot he 
scanned the delicate, slender form, and then, turning away, 
he said to Fitzosborne — 


HAROLD 


47 


‘Thou, whose mailed hand hath felled a war-steed, art 
thou not ashamed of thyself? The day is coming, I see it 
afar, when these slight men shall set their feet upon our 
corslets.’ 

He paused as if in thought, again paced the room, and 
stopped before the crucifix, and image of the Virgin, which 
stood in a niche near the bed-head. 

‘ Right noble prince,’ said the priest’s low voice, ‘ pause 
there for a solution to all enigmas ; there view the symbol 
of all-enduring power ; there, learn its ends below — com- 
prehend the account it must yield above. To your thoughts 
and your prayers w^e leave you.’ 

He took the stalwart arm of Taillefer, as he spoke, and, 
with a grave obeisance to Fitzosborne, left the chamber. 


CHAPTER III 

The next morning William was long closeted alone with 
Lanfranc, — that man, among the most remarkable of his 
age, of whom it was said, that ‘ to comprehend the extent 
of his talents, one must be Herodian in grammar, Aristotle 
in dialectics, Cicero in rhetoric, Augustine and Jerome in 
Scriptural lore,’ — and ere the noon the Duke’s gallant 
and princely train were ordered to be in readiness for return 
home. 

The crowd in the broad space, and the citizens from their 
boats in the river, gazed on the knights and steeds of that 
gorgeous company, already drawn up and awaiting without 
the open gates the sound of the trumpets that should 
announce the Duke’s departure. Before the hall door in 
the inner court w'ere his own men. The snow-white steed 
of Odo ; the alezan of Fitzosborne ; and, to the marvel of 
all, a small palfrey plainly caparisoned. What did that 
palfrey amid those steeds.^ — the steeds themselves seemed 
to chafe at the companionship ; the Duke’s charger pricked 
up his ears and snorted ; the Lord of Breteuil’s alezan 
kicked out, as the poor nag humbly drew near to make 
acquaintance ; and the prelate’s white barb, with red vicious 
eye, and ears laid down, ran fiercely at the low'-bred in- 
truder, w'ith difficulty reined in by the squires, who shared 
the beast’s amaze and resentment. 

Meanwhile the Duke thoughtfully took his way to 
Edw^ard’s apartments. In the anteroom were many monks 
and many knights ; but conspicuous amongst them all w^as 


48 


HAROLD 


a tall and stately veteran, leaning on a great two-handed 
sword, and whose dress and fashion of beard were those of 
the last generation, the men who had fought vdth Canute 
the Great or Edmund Ironsides. So p-and w'as the old 
man’s aspect, and so did he contrast in appearance, the 
narrow garb and shaven chins of those around, that the 
Duke W'as roused from his reverie at the sight, and marvel- 
ling why one, evidently a chief of high rank, had neither 
graced the banquet in his honour, nor been presented to 
his notice, he turned to the Earl of Hereford, who ap- 
proached him with gay salutation, and inquired the name 
and title of the bearded man in the loose flowing robe. 

‘ Know you not, in truth ? ’ said the lively Earl, in some 
wonder. Mn him you see the great rival of Godwin. He 
is the hero of the Danes, as Godwdn is of the Saxons, a true 
son of Odin, Si ward Earl of the Northumbrians.’ 

‘ Notre Dame be my aid — his fame hath oft filled my ears, 
and I should have lost the most welcome sight in merrie 
England had I not now beheld him.’ 

Therew ith the Duke approached courteously, and, doffing 
the cap he had hitherto retained, he greeted the old hero 
with those compliments which the Norman had already 
learned in the courts of the Frank. 

The stout Earl received them coldly, and replying in 
Danish to William’s Romance-tongue, he said — 

Pardon, Count of the Normans, if these old lips cling to 
their old words. Both of us, methinks, date our lineage 
from the lands of the Norse. Suff’er Siw’ard to speak the 
language the sea-kings spoke. The old oak is not to be 
transplanted, and the old man keeps the ground where his 
youth took root.’ 

The Duke, who with some difficulty comprehended the 
general meaning of Siward’s speech, bit his lip, but replied 
courteously — 

‘ The youths of all nations may learn from renowned age. 
Much doth it shame me that I cannot commune with thee 
in the ancestral tongue ; but the angels at least know the 
language of the Norman Christian, and I pray them and the 
saints for a calm end to thy brave career.’ 

^ Pray not to angel or saint for Siward son of Beorn,’ said 
the old man hastily ; ^ let me not have a cow’s death, but a 
w'arrior’s ; die in my mail of proof, axe in hand, and helm 
on head. And such may be my death, if Edward the King 
reads my rede and grants my prayer.’ 

^ I have influence with the King,’ said William ; ^ name 
thy wish, that I may back it’ 

^The fiend forfend,’ said the grim Earl, ^that a foreign 


HAROLD 


49 


prince should sway England’s King, or that thegn and earl 
should ask other backing than leal service and just cause. 
If Edward be the saint men call him, he will loose me on 
the hell-wolf, without other cry than his own conscience.’ 

The Duke turned inquiringly to Rolf, who, thus appealed 
to, said — 

^ Siward urges my uncle to espouse the cause of Malcolm 
of Cumbria against the bloody tyrant Macbeth ; and but for 
the disputes with the traitor Godwin, the King had long 
since turned his arms to Scotland.’ 

‘ Call not traitors, young man,' said the Earl, in high 
disdain, ^ those who, with all their faults and crimes, have 
placed thy kinsman on the throne of Canute.’ 

^ Hush, Rolf,’ said the Duke, observing the fierce young 
Norman about to reply hastily. ^But methought, though 
my knowledge of English troubles is but scant, that Siward 
w'as the sw'orn foe to Godwin ? ’ 

' Foe to him in his power, friend to him in his wrongs,’ 
answered Siw'ard. ^ And if England needs defenders when 
I and Godwin are in our shrouds, there is but one man 
worthy of the days of old, and his name is Harold, the outlaw^.’ 

William’s face changed remarkably, despite all his dis- 
simulation ; and, with a slight inclination of his head, he 
strode on, moody and irritated. 

^ This Harold I this Harold ! ’ he muttered to himself, ^ all 
brave men speak to me of this Harold ! Even my Norman 
knights name him with reluctant reverence, and even his 
foes do him honour ; — verily his shadow is cast from exile 
over all the land.’ 

Thus murmuring, he passed the throng with less than his 
wonted affable grace, and pushing back the officers who 
wished to precede him, entered, without ceremony, Edward’s 
private chamber. 

The King was alone, but talking loudly to himself, gesti- 
culating vehemently, and altogether so changed from his 
ordinary placid apathy of mien, that William drew back in 
alarm and awe. Often had he heard indirectly, that of late 
years Edward was said to see visions, and be rapt from 
himself into the world of spirit and shadow ; and such, he 
now doubted not, was the strange paroxysm of which he 
was made the witness. Edward’s eyes were fixed upon him, 
but evidently without recognising his presence ; the King’s 
hands were outstretched, and he cried aloud in a voice of 
sharp anguish — 

‘ Sanguelac, Sanguelac! — the Lake of Blood! — the waves 
spread, the waves redden I Mother of mercy — where is the 
ark — where the Ararat.^ — Fly — fly — this way — this 


D 


60 


HAROLD 


and he caught convulsive hold of William’s arm. ^No ! 
there the corpses are piled — high and higher — there the 
horse of the Apocalypse tramples the dead in their gore.’ 

In great horror^ William took the King, now gasping on 
his breast, in his arms, and laid him on his bed, beneath 
its canopy of state, all blazoned with the martlets and cross 
of his insignia. Slowly Edward came to himself, with heavy 
sighs ; and when at length he sate up and looked round, it 
was with evident unconsciousness of what had passed across 
his luiggard and wandering spirit, for he said, with his usual 
drowsy calmness — 

^Thanks, Guillaume, bien almej for rousing me from 
unseasoned sleep ; how fares it with thee ? ’ 

'Nay, how with thee, dear friend and King.^ thy dreams 
have been troubled.’ 

'Not so; I slept so heavily, methinks I could not have 
dreamed at all. But thou art clad as for a journey — spur 
on thy heel, staff in thy hand ! ’ 

' Long since, O dear host, 1 sent Odo to tell thee of the 
ill news from Normandy that compelled me to depart.’ 

' I remember — I remember me now,’ said Edward, passing 
his pale womanly fingers over his forehead. 'The heathen 
rage against thee. Ah ! my poor brother, a crown is an 
awful head-gear. While yet time, why not both seek some 
quiet convent, and put away these earthly cares } ’ 

William smiled and shook his head. ' Nay, holy Edward, 
from all I have seen of convents, it is a dream to think that 
the monk’s serge hides a calmer breast than the warrior’s 
mail, or the king’s ermine. Now give me thy benison, for 
1 go.’ 

He knelt as he spoke, and Edward bent his hands over 
his head, and blessed him. Then, taking from his own neck 
a collar of zimmes (jewels and uncut gems) of great price, 
the king threw it over the broad throat bent before him, 
and rising, clapped his hands. A small door opened, giving 
a glimpse of the oratory within, and a monk appeared. 

' Father, have my behests been fulfilled } — hath Hugoline, 
my treasurer, dispensed the gifts that I spoke of.^’ 

'Verily yes; vault, coffer, and garde-robe— stall and 
meuse— are well-nigh drained,' answered the monk, with a 
sour look at the Norman, whose native avarice gleamed in 
his dark eyes as he heard the answer. 

'Thy train go not hence empty-handed,’ said Edward 
fondly. ^Thy father’s halls sheltered the exile, and the 
exile forgets not the sole pleasure of a king — the power to 
requite. We may never meet again, ’William— age creeps 
over me, and who will succeed to my thorny throne } ’ 


HAROLD 


til 


William longed to answer — to tell tlie hope that con- 
sumed him — to remind his cousin of the vague promise in 
their youth, that the Norman Count should succeed to that 
‘ thorny throne ’ : but the presence of the Saxon monk 
repelled him, nor was there in Edward’s uneasy look much 
to allure him on. 

^But peace,’ continued the King, ^be between thine and 
mine, as between thee and me ! ’ 

^Amen,’ said the Duke, ‘^and I leave thee at least free 
from the proud rebels who so long disturbed thy reign. 
This House of Godwin, thou wilt not again let it tower 
above thy palace ? ’ 

‘ Nay, the future is with God and his saints,’ answered 
Edward, feebly. ^ But Godwin is old — older than 1, and 
bowed by many storms.’ 

^Ay, his sons are more to be dreaded and kept aloof — 
mostly Harold ! ’ 

^ Harold — he w^as ever obedient, he alone of his kith ; 
truly my soul mourns for Harold,’ said the King, sighing. 

^The serpent’s egg hatches but the serpent. Keep thy 
heel on it,’ said William, sternly. 

^Thou speakest well,’ said the irresolute prince, who 
never seemed three days or three minutes together in the 
same mind. ‘ Harold is in Ireland — there let him rest : 
better for all.’ 

‘^For all,’ said the Duke; ^so the saints keep thee, O 
royal saint ! ’ 

He kissed the King’s hand, and strode away to the hall 
where Odo, Fitzosborne, and the priest Lanfranc awaited 
him. And so that day, halfway towards the fair town of 
Dover, rode Duke William, and by the side of his roan barb 
ambled the priest’s palfrey. 

Behind came his gallant train, and with tumbrils and 
sumpter-mules laden with baggage, and enriched by Ed- 
ward’s gifts ! while Welch hawks, and steeds of great price 
from the pastures of Surrey and the plains of Cambridge 
and York, attested no less acceptably than zimme, and 
golden chain, and broidered robe, the munificence of the 
grateful King. 

As they journeyed on, and the fame of the Duke’s coming 
was sent abroad by the bodes or messengers despatched to 
prepare the towns through which he was to pass for an 
arrival sooner than expected, the more highborn youths 
of England, especially those of the party counter to that of 
the banished Godwin, came round the ways to gaze upon 
that famous chief, who, from the age of fifteen, had wielded 
the most redoubtable sword of Christendom. And those 


52 


HAROLD 


youths wore the Norman garb : aud in the towns, Norman 
counts held his stirrup to dismount, and Norman hosts 
spread the fastidious board ; and when, at the eve of the 
next day, William saw the pennon of one of his own 
favourite chiefs waving in the van of armed men that 
sallied forth from the towers of Dover (the key of the coast) 
he turned to the Lombard, still by his side, and said — 

^ Is not England part of Normandy already ? ’ 

And the Lombard answered — 

^The fruit is well-nigh ripe, and the first breeze will shake 
it to thy feet. Put not out thy hand too soon. Let the 
wind do its work.’ 

And the Duke made reply — 

^As thou thinkest, so think I. And there is but one 
wind in the halls of heaven that can waft the fruit to the 
feet of another.’ 

‘ And that ? ’ asked the Lombard. 

^ Is the wind that blows from the shores of Ireland, when 
it fills the sail of Harold, son of Godwin.’ 

^ Thou fearest that man, and why } ’ asked the Lombard 
with interest. 

And the Duke answered — 

^ Because in the breast of Harold beats the heart of 
England.’ 


BOOK III 


THE HOUSE OF GODWIN 

CHAPTER I 

And all went to the desire of Duke William the Norman. 
\Tith one hand he curbed his proud vassals, and drove 
back his fierce foes. With the other, he led to the altar 
Matilda, the maid of Flanders ; and all happened as Lan- 
franc had foretold. William’s most formidable enemy, the 
King of France, ceased to conspire against his new kins- 
man ; and the neighbouring princes said, ^The Bastard 
hath become one of us since he placed by his side the 
descendant of Charlemagne.’ And Mauger, Archbishop of 
Rouen, excommunicated the Duke and his bride, and the 
ban fell idle ; for Lanfranc sent from Rome the Pope’s dis- 
pensation and blessing, conditionally only that bride and 
bridegroom founded each a church. And Mauger was 
summoned before the synod, and accused of unclerical 
crimes ; and they deposed him from his state, and took 
from him abbacies and sees. And England every day 
waxed more and more Norman ; and Edward grew more 
feeble and infirm, and there seemed not a barrier between 
the Norman Duke and the English throne, when suddenly 
the wind blew in the halls of heaven, and filled the sails of 
Harold the Earl. 

And his ships came to the mouth of the Severn. And 
the people of Somerset and Devon, a mixed and mainly a 
Celtic race, who bore small love to the Saxons, drew to- 
gether against him, and he put them to flight. 

Meanwhile, Godwin and his sons, Sweyn, Tostig, and 
Gurth, who had taken refuge in that very Flanders from 
which William the Duke had won his bride (for Tostig 
had wed, previously, the sister of Matilda, the rose of 
Flanders ; and Count Baldwin had, for his sons-in-law, 
both Tostig and William) — meanwhile, I say, these, not 


54 


HAROLD 


holpen by the Count Baldwin, but helping themselves, lay 
at Bruges, ready to join Harold the Earl. And Edward, 
advised of this from the anxious Norman, caused forty 
ships to be equipped, and put them under command of 
Rolf, Earl of Hereford. The ships lay at Sandwich in wait 
for Godwin. But the old Earl got from them, and landed 
quietly on the southern coast. And the fort of Hastings 
opened to his coming with a shout from its armed men. 

All the boatmen, all the mariners, far and near, thronged 
to him, with sail and with shield, with sword and with oar. 
All Kent (the foster-mother of the Saxons) sent forth the 
cry, ‘ Life or death with Earl Godwin.’ P’ast over the length 
and breadth of the land, went the bodes and riders of the 
Earl ; and hosts, with one voice, answered the cry of the 
children of Horsa, ^Life or death with Earl Godwin.’ And 
the ships of King Edward, in dismay, turned flag and prow 
to London, and the fleet of Harold sailed on. So the old 
Earl met his young son on the deck of a warship, that had 
once borne the Raven of the Dane. 

Swelled and gathering sailed the armament of the Englisli 
men. Slow up the Thames it sailed, and on either shore 
marched tumultuous the swarming multitudes. And King 
Edward sent after more help, but it came up very late. So 
the fleet of the Earl nearly faced tlie Julliet Keape of Lon- 
don, and abode at Southvi'ark till the flood-tide came up. 
^\’'hen he liad mustered his host, then came the flood-tide. 


CHAPTER II 

King Edward sate, not on his throne, but on a chair of 
state, in the presence-chamber of his palace of \Testminster. 
His diadem, with the three zimmes shaped into a triple 
trefoil on his brow, his sceptre in his right hand. His royal 
robe, tiglit to the throat, with a broad band of gold, flowed 
to his feet ; and at the fold gathered round the left knee, 
where now the kings of England wear the badge of St. 
George, was embroidered a simjile cross. In that chamber 
met the thegns and ])roceres of his realm ; but not they 
alone. No national Witan tliere assemlded, but a council 
of war, composed at least one tliird part of Normans — 
counts, knights, prelates, and abbots of high degree. 

And King Edward looked a king ! Tlie habitual lethargic 
meekness liad vanished from his face, and the large crown 
threw a shadow, like a frown, over his brow. His spirit 
seemed to have risen from the weight it took from the 


HAROLD 


65 


sluggish blood of his father, Ethelred the Unready, and to 
have remounted to the brighter and earlier source of an- 
cestral heroes. Worthy in that hour he seemed to boast the 
blood and wield the sceptre of Athelstan and Alfred. 

Thus spoke the King : 

^ Right worthy and beloved, my ealdermen, earls, and 
thegns of England ; noble and familiar, my friends and 
guests, counts and chevaliers of Normandy, my mother's 
land ; and you, our spiritual chiefs, above all ties of birth 
and country, Christendom your common appanage, and 
from Heaven your seigiiories and fiefs, — hear the words of 
Edward, the King of England, under grace of the Most 
High. The rebels are in our river ! open yonder lattice, 
and you will see the piled shields glittering from their 
barks, and hear the hum of their hosts. Not a bow has 
yet been drawn, not a sword left its sheath ; yet on the 
opposite side of the river are our fleets of forty sail — along 
the strand, between our palace and the gates of London, 
are arrayed our armies. And this pause because Godwin 
the traitor hath demanded truce, and his nuncius waits 
without. Are ye willing that we should hear the message ? 
or would ye rather that we dismiss the messenger unheard, 
and pass at once, to rank and to sail, the war-cry of a 
Christian king, Holy Crosse and our Lady ! ” ’ 

The King ceased, his left hand grasping firm the leopard 
head carved on his throne, and his sceptre untrembling in 
his lifted hand. 

A murmur of JVotre Dame, Notre Dame, the war-cry of the 
Normans, was heard amongst the stranger-knights of the 
audience : but haughty and arrogant as those strangers were, 
no one presumed to take precedence, in England's danger, 
of men English born. 

Slowly then rose Aired, Bishop of Winchester, the 
worthiest prelate in all the land. 

^ Kingly son,’ said the bishop, ^ evil is the strife between 
men of the same blood and lineage, nor justified but by 
extremes, which have not yet been made clear to us. And 
ill would it sound throughout England were it said that 
the King’s council gave, perchance, his city of London to 
sword and fire, and rent his land in twain, when a word in 
season might have disbanded yon armies, and given to 
your throne a submissive subject, where now you are 
menaced by a formidable rebel. Wherefore, I say, admit 
the nuncius.’ 

Scarcely had Aired resumed his seat, before Robert the 
Norman prelate of Canterbury started up — a man, it was 
said, of worldly learning — and exclaimed : 


/ 


m HAROLD 

'To admit the messenger is to approve the treason. I 
do beseech the King to consult only his own royal heart 
and royal honour. Reflect — each moment of delay swells 
the rebel hosts — strengthens their cause ; of each moment 
they avail themselves, to allure to their side the misguided 
citizens. Delay but proves our own weakness ; a king’s 
name is a tower of strength, but only when fortified by a 
king’s authority. Give the signal for — wa7' I call it not — 
no — for chastisement and justice.’ 

'As speaks my brother of Canterbury, speak I,’ said 
William, Bishop of London, another Norman. 

But then there rose up a form at whose rising all mur- 
murs were hushed. 

Grey and vast, as some image of a gone and mightier age, 
towered over all, Siward, the son ofBeorn, the great Earl of 
Northumbria. 

' W e have nought to do with the Normans. Were they 
on the river, and our countrymen, Dane or Saxon, alone in 
this hall, small doubt of the King’s choice, and niddering 
were the man who spoke of peace ; but when Norman 
advises the dwellers of England to go forth and slay 
each other, no sword of mine shall be drawn at his best. 
A\Tio shall say that Siward of the Strong Arm, the grand- 
son of the Berserker, ever turned from a foe.^ The foe, 
son of Ethelred, sits in these halls ; I fight thy battles 
M^hen I say nay to the Norman ! Brothers-in-arms of the 
kindred race and common tongue, Dane and Saxon long 
intermingled, proud alike of Canute the glorious and 
Alfred the wise, ye will hear the man whom Godwin our 
countryman sends to us ; he at least will speak our tongue, 
and he knows our laws. If the demand he delivers be 
just, such as a king should grant, and our Witan should 
hear, woe to him who refuses ; if unjust be the demand, 
shame to him wlio accedes. A\’'arrior sends to warrior, 
countryman to countryman ; hear we as countrymen, and 
judge as warriors. I have said.’ 

The utmost excitement and agitation followed the speech 
of Siward — unanimous applause from the Saxons, even 
those who in times of peace were most under the Norman 
contagion ; but no words can paint the wrath and scorn 
of the Normans. They spoke loud and many at a time ; 
the greatest disorder prevailed. But the majority being 
English, there could be no doubt as to the decision ; and 
Edward, to whom the emergence gave both a dignity and 
presence of mind rare to him, resoh^ed to terminate the 
dispute at once. He stretched forth his sceptre, and 
motioning to his chamberlain,bade him introduce the nuiicius. 


HAROLD 


57 


A blank disappointment, not unmixed with apprehensive 
terror, succeeded the turbulent excitement of the Normans; 
for well they knew that the consequences, if not condition, 
of negotiations, would be their own downfall and banish- 
ment at the least ; happy, it might be, to escape massacre 
at the hands of the exasperated multitude. 

Tlie door at the end of the room opened, and the nuncius 
appeared. He was a sturdy, broad-shouldered man, of 
middle age, and in the long loose garb originally national 
with the Saxon, though then little in vogue ; his beard 
thick and fair, his eyes grey and calm — a chief of Kent, 
where all the prejudices of his race were strongest, and 
whose yeomanry claimed in war the hereditary right to be 
placed in the front of battle. 

He made his manly but deferential salutation to the 
august council as he approached ; and, pausing midway 
between the throne and door, he fell on his knees without 
thought of shame, for the King to whom he knelt was the 
descendant of Woden, and the heir of Hengist. At a sign 
and a brief word from the King, still on his knees, Vebba, 
the Kentman, spoke — 

^ To Edward, son of Ethelred, his most gracious king and 
lord, Godwin, son of Wolnoth, sends faithful and humble 
greeting, by Vebba, the thegn-born. He prays the King to 
hear him in kindness, and judge of him with mercy. Not 
against the King comes he hither with ships and arms ; but 
against those only who would stand between the King’s 
heart and the subject’s ; those who have divided a house 
against itself, and parted son and father, man and wife ' 

At those last words Edward’s sceptre trembled in his 
hand, and his face grew almost stern. 

^Of the King, Godwin but prays Mith all submiss and 
earnest prayer, to reverse the unrighteous outlawry against 
him and his ; to restore to him and his sons their just 
possessions and well-won honours ; and, more than all, to 
replace them where they have sought by loving service not 
unworthily to stand, in the grace of their born lord, and in 
the van of those who would uphold the laws and liberties 
of England. This done — the ships sail back to their haven ; 
the thegn seeks his homestead, and the ceorl returns to the 
plough ; for with Godwin are no strangers ; and his force 
is but the love of his countrymen.’ 

^ Hast thou said ? ’ quoth the King. 

‘ I have said.’ 

^Retire, and await our answer.’ 

The Thegn of Kent was then led back into an ante-room, 
in which, armed from head to heel in ring-mail, were 


58 


HAROLD 


several Normans whose youth or station did not admit 
them into the council^ but still of no mean interest in the 
discussion, from the lands and possessions they had already 
contrived to gripe out of the demesnes of the exiles ; 
burning for battle and eager for the word. Amongst these 
was Mallet de Graville. 

The Norman valour of this young knight was, as we 
have seen, guided by Norman intelligence ; and he had not 
disdained, since William’s departure, to study the tongue 
of the country in which he hoped to exchange his mortgaged 
tower on the Seine for some fair barony on the Humber or 
the Thames. 

While the rest of his proud countrymen stood aloof, with 
eyes of silent scorn, from tlie homely nuncius. Mallet 
approached him with courteous bearing, and said in 
Saxon — 

* May I crave to know the issue of thy message from the 
reb — that is, from the Douglity Earl ? ’ 

^ I wait to learn it,’ said Vebba, blufflj\ 

^ They heard thee throughout, then ? 

^Throughout.’ 

‘ Friendly Sir,’ said tlie Sire de Graville, seeking to sub- 
due the tone of irony habitual to him, and acquired, perhaps, 
from his maternal ancestry, the Franks. ‘ hViendly and 
peace-making Sir, dare I so far venture to intrude on the 
secrets of thy mission as to ask if Godwin demands, among 
other reasonable items, the head of thy liumble servant — 
not by name indeed, for my name is as yet unknown to him 
— but as one of the unhappy class called Normans ? ’ 

^ Had Earl Godwin,’ returned the nuncius, ^ thought fit 
to treat for peace by asking for vengeance, he would have 
chosen another spokesman. The Earl asks but his own ; and 
thy head is not, I trow, a part of his goods and chattels.' 

^That is comforting,’ said Mallet. ^ Marry, 1 thank 
thee. Sir Saxon ; and thou speakest like a brave man and 
an honest. And if we fall to blows, as I suspect we shall, 
I should deem it a favour of our Lady the Virgin if she send 
thee across my way. Next to a fair friend I love a bold foe.’ 

Vebba smiled, for he liked the sentiment, and the tone 
and air of the young knight pleased his rough mind, despite 
his prejudices against the stranger. 

Encouraged by the smile. Mallet seated himself on the 
corner of the long table that skirted the room, and with 
a debonnair gesture invited Vebba to do the same ; then 
looking at him gravely, he resumed — 

^ So frank and courteous thou art. Sir Envoy, that I yet 
intrude on thee my ignorant and curious questions.’ 


HAROLD 


69 


' Speak out, Norman.’ 

^ How comes it, then, that you English so love this Earl 
Godwin ? — Still more, why think you it right and proper 
that King Edward should love him too } It is a question 
I have often asked, and to which I am not likely in these 
halls to get answer satisfactory. If I know aught of your 
troublous history, this same Earl has changed sides oft eno' ; 
first for the Saxon, then for Canute the Dane — Canute dies, 
and your friend takes up arms for the Saxon again. He 
yields to the advice of your Witan, and sides with Hardi- 
canute and Harold, the Danes — a letter nathless is written 
as from Emma, the mother to the young Saxon princes, 
Edward and Alfred, inviting them over to England, and 
promising aid ; the saints protect Edward, who continues 
to say aves in Normandy — Alfred comes over, Earl Godwin 
meets him, and, unless belied, does him homage, and swears 
to him faith. Nay, listen yet. This Godwin, whom ye love 
so, then leads Alfred and his train into the ville of Guildford, 
I think ye call it — fair quarters enow. At the dead of the 
night rush in King Harold’s men, seize prince and follower, 
six hundred men in all ; and next morning, saving only 
every tentli man, they are tortured and put to death. The 
prince is borne olf to London, and shortly afterwards his eyes 
are torn out in the Islet of Ely, and he dies of the anguish ! 
That ye should love Earl Godwin withal may be strange, 
hut yet possible. But is it possible, cher Envoy, for the 
King to love the man who thus betrayed his brother to the 
shambles } ’ 

^All this is a Norman fable,’ said the Thegn of Kent, 
with a disturbed visage ; ‘ and Godwin cleared himself on 
oath of all share in the foul murder of Alfred.’ 

‘^The oath, I have heard, was backed,’ said the knight, 
drily, ^ by a present to Hardicanute, who after the death of 
King Harold resolved to avenge the black butchery ; a 
present, I say, of a gilt ship, manned by fourscore warriors 
with gold-hilted swords, and gilt helms. — But let this pass.’ 

^Let it pass,’ echoed Vebba with a sigh. ^Bloody were 
those times, and unholy their secrets.’ 

^ Yet answer me still: why love you Earl Godwin? He 
hath changed sides from party to party, and in each change 
won lordships and lands. He is ambitious and grasping, 
ye all allow ; for the ballads sung in your streets liken him 
to the thorn and the bramble, at which the sheep leaves 
his wool. He is haughty and overbearing. Tell me, O 
Saxon, frank Saxon, why you love Godwin the Earl ? Fain 
would I know; for, please the saints (and you and your 
Earl so permitting), I mean to live and die in this merrie 


60 


HAROLD 


England ; and it would be pleasant to learn that I have 
but to do as Earl Godwin in order to win love from the 
English.’ 

Tlie stout Vebba looked perplexed ; but after stroking 
his beard thoughtfully, he answered thus — 

^Though of Kent, and therefore in his earldom, I am 
not one of Godwin’s especial party ; for that reason was I 
chosen his bode. Those who are under him doubtless love 
a chief liberal to give and strong to protect. The old age 
of a great leader gathers reverence, as an oak gathers moss. 
But to me, and those like me, living peaceful at home, 
shunning courts, and tempting not broils, Godwin the man 
is not dear — it is Godwin the thing.' 

* Though I do my best to know your language,’ said the 
knight, ^ ye liave phrases that might puzzle King Solomon. 
What meanest thou by Godwin the thing” 

^That which to us Godwin only seems to uphold. We 
love justice ; whatever his offences, Godwin was banished 
unjustly. We love our laws ; Godwin was dishonoured by 
maintaining them. We love England, and are devoured 
by strangers ; Godwin’s cause is England’s, and — stranger, 
forgive me for not concluding.’ 

Then examining the young Norman with a look of rough 
compassion, he laid his large hand upon the knight’s 
shoulder and whispered — 

^ Take my advice — and fly.’ 

^ Fly ! ’ said De Graville, reddening. ^ Is it to fly, think 
you, that I have put on my mail, and girded my sword 
^ Vain — vain ! W’^asps are fierce, but the swarm is doomed 
when the straw is kindled. I tell you this — fly in time, 
and you are safe ; but let the King be so misguided as to 
count on arms, and strive against yon multitude, and verily 
before nightfall not one Norman will be found alive within 
ten miles of the city. Look to it, youth ! Perhaps thou 
hast a mother — let her not mourn a son ! ’ 

Before the Norman could shape into Saxon sufficiently 
polite and courtly his profound and indignant disdain of 
the counsel, his sense of the impertinence with which his 
shoulder had been profaned, and his mother’s son had 
been warned, the nuncius w'as again summoned into the 
presence-chamber. Nor did he return into the ante-room, 
but, conducted forthwith from the council — his brief answer 
received — to the stairs of the palace, he reached the boat in 
which he had come, and was rowed back to the ship that 
held the Earl and his sons. 

Now this was the manoeuvre of Godwin’s array. His 
vessels having passed London Bridge, had rested a while 


H A R O L t) 


Gl 


on the banks of the Southward suburb (Suth-weorde) — 
since called Southwark — and the King’s ships lay to the 
north ; but the fleet of the Earl’s, after a brief halt, veered 
majestically round, and coming close to the palace of West- 
minster, inclined northward, as if to hem the King’s ships. 
Meanwhile the land forces drew up close to the Strand, 
almost within bow-shot of the King’s troops that kept the 
ground inland ; thus Vebba saw before him, so near as 
scarcely to be distinguished from each other, on the river 
the rival fleets, on the shore the rival armaments. 

High above all the vessels towered the majestic bark, or 
aesca, that had borne Harold from the Irish shores. Its 
fashion was that of the ancient sea-kings, to one of whom 
it had belonged. Its curved and mighty prow, richly 
gilded, stood out far above the waves : the prow', the head 
of the sea-snake ; the stern its spire ; head and spire alike 
glittering in the sun. 

The boat drew' up to the lofty side of the vessel, a ladder 
was lowered, the nuncius ascended lightly and stood on deck. 
At the farther end grouped the sailors, few in number, and 
at a respectful distance from the Earl and his sons. 

Godwin himself was but half armed. His head was bare, 
nor had he other w'eapon of offence than the gilt battle- 
axe of the Danes — weapon as much of office as of war ; but 
his broad breast was covered with the ring mail of the 
time. His stature was lower than that of any of his sons ; 
nor did his form exhibit greater physical strength than 
that of a man, well shaped, robust, and deep of chest, who 
still preserved in age the pith and sinew of mature man- 
hood. Neither, indeed, did legend or fame ascribe to that 
eminent personage those romantic achievements, those feats 
of purely animal prowess, which distinguished his rival, 
Siward. Brave he was, but brave as a leader ; those faculties 
in which he appears to have excelled all his contemporaries, 
w'ere more analogous to the requisites of success in civilised 
times than those which won renown of old. And perhaps 
England was the only country then in Europe which could 
have given to those faculties their fitting career. He 
possessed essentially the arts of party; he knew how to 
deal with vast masses of mankind ; he could carry along 
with his interests the fervid heart of the multitude ; he had 
in the highest degree that gift, useless in most other lands 
— in all lands where popular assemblies do not exist — the 
gift of popular eloquence. Ages elapsed, after the Norman 
Conquest, ere eloquence again became a power in England. 

But like all men renowned for eloquence, he went with 
the popular feeling of his times ; he embodied its passions. 


62 


HAROLD 


its prejudices— but also that keen sense of self-interest, 
which is the invariable characteristic of a multitude. He 
was the sense of the commonalty carried to its highest 
degree. Whatever the faults, it may be the crimes, of a 
career singularly prosperous and splendid, amidst events 
the darkest and most terrible — shining with a steady light 
across the thunder-clouds — he was never accused of cruelty 
or outrage to the mass of the people. English, emphatically, 
the English deemed him ; and this not the less that in his 
youth he had sided with Canute, and owed his fortunes to 
that king ; for so intermixed were Danes and Saxons in 
England, that the agreement which had given to Canute 
one half the kingdom had been received with general 
applause ; and the earlier severities of that great prince 
had been so redeemed in his later years by wisdom and 
mildness— so, even in the worst period of his reign, relieved 
by extraordinary personal alfability, and so lost now in 
men’s memories by pride in his power and fame — that 
Canute had left behind him a beloved and honoured name, 
and Godwin was the more esteemed as the chosen counsellor 
of that popular prince. At his death, Godwin was known 
to have wished, and even armed, for the restoration of the 
Saxon line ; and only yielded to the determination of the 
^Vitan, no doubt acted upon by the popular opinion. Of 
one dark crime he was suspected, and, despite his oath to 
the contrary, and the formal acquittal of the national 
council, doubt of his guilt rested then, as it rests still, upon 
his name ; viz. the perfidious surrender of Alfred, Edward’s 
murdered brother. 

But time had passed over the dismal tragedy ; and there 
was an instinctive and prophetic feeling throughout the 
English nation that with the House of Godwin was identi- 
fied the cause of the English people. Everything in this 
man’s aspect served to plead in his favour. His ample 
brows were calm with benignity and thought ; his large 
dark blue eyes were serene and mild, though tlieir expres- 
sion, when examined, was close and inscrutable. His mien 
was singularly noble, but wholly without formality or 
affected state ; and though haughtiness and arrogance were 
largely attributed to him, they could be found only in his 
deeds, not manner— plain, familiar, kindly to all men, his 
heart seemed as open to the service of his countrymen as 
his hospitable door to their wants. 

Behind him stood the stateliest group of sons that ever 
filled with pride a father’s eye. Each strikingly distinguished 
from the other, all remarkable for beauty of countenance 
and strength of frame. 


HAROLD 


63 


Sweyii, the eldest, had the dark hues of his mother the 
Dane : a wild and mournful majesty sat upon features 
aquiline and regular, but wasted by grief or passion ; raven 
locks, glossy even in neglect, fell half over eyes hollow in 
their sockets, but bright, though with troubled fire. Over 
his shoulder he bore his mighty axe. His form, spare, but 
of immense power, was sheathed in mail, and he leant on 
his great pointed Danish shield. At his feet sate his young 
son Haco, a boy with a countenance preternaturally thought- 
ful for his years, which were yet those of childhood. 

Next to him stood the most dreaded and ruthless of the 
sons of Godwin — he, fated to become to the Saxon what 
Julian was to the Goth. With his arms folded on his breast 
stood Tostig ; his face was beautiful as a Greek’s, in all save 
the forehead, which was low and lowering. Sleek and trim 
were his bright chestnut locks ; and his arms were damas- 
cened with silver, for he was one mIio loved the pomp and 
luxury of war. 

Wolnoth, the mother’s favourite, seemed yet in the first 
flower of youth, but he alone of all the sons had something 
irresolute and effeminate in his aspect and bearing; his form, 
though tall, had not yet come to its full height and strength ; 
and, as if the weight of mail were unusual to him, he leant 
with both hands upon the wood of his long spear. Leofwine, 
who stood next to Wolnoth, contrasted him notably; his 
sunny locks wreathed carelessly over a white unclouded 
brow, and the silken hair on the upper lip quivered over 
arch lips, smiling, even in that serious hour. 

At Godwin’s right hand, but not immediately near him, 
stood the last of the group, Gurth and Harold. Gurth had 
passed his arm over the shoulder of his brother, and, not 
watching the nuncius while he spoke, watched only the 
effect his words produced on the face of Harold. For 
Gurth loved Harold as Jonathan loved David. And Harold 
was the only one of the group not armed ; and had a vete- 
ran skilled in war been asked who of that group was born 
to lead armed men, he would have pointed to the man 
unarmed. 

' So what says the King ? ’ asked Earl Godwin. 

^ This : he refuses to restore thee and thy sons, or to hear 
thee, till thou hast disbanded thine army, dismissed thy 
ships, and consented to clear thyself and thy house before 
the Witana-gemot. ’ 

A fierce laugh broke from Tostig; Sweyn’s mournful brow 
grew darker; Leofwine placed his right hand on hisateghar; 
Wolnoth rose erect ; Gurth kept his eyes on Harold, and 
Harold’s face was unmoved. 


G4 


H A HOLD 


^The King received thee in his council of war,’ said 
Godwin, thoughtfully, ^and doubtless the Normans were 
there. Who were the Englishmen most of mark ? ’ 

* Si ward of Northumbria, thy foe.’ 

^My sons,’ said the Earl, turning to his children, and 
breathing loud as if a load were off his heart, ^ there will 
he no need of axe or armour to-day. Harold alone was 
wise,’ and he pointed to the linen tunic of the son thus cited. 

^ What mean you. Sir Father.^’ said Tostig, imperiously. 
^ Think you to ’ 

^ Peace, son, peace,’ said Godwin, without asperity, but 
with conscious command. ^ Return, brave and dear friend,’ 
he said to Vebba, ‘^find out Siward the Earl ; tell him that 
I, Godwin, his foe in the old time, place honour and life in 
his hands, and what he counsels that will w'e do. — Go.’ 

The Kent man nodded, and regained his boat. Then spoke 
Harold ; 

^ Father, yonder are the forces of Edward ; as yet without 
leaders, since the chiefs must be still in the halls of the 
King. Some fiery Norman amongst them may provoke an 
encounter ; and this city of London is not won, as it behoves 
us to win it, if one drop of English blood dye the sword of 
one English man. AVherefore, with your leave, I will take 
boat, and land. And unless I have lost in my absence all 
right lere in the hearts of our countrymen, at the first shout 
from our troops which proclaims that Harold, son of Godwin, 
is on the soil of our fathers, half yon array of spears and 
helms pass at once to our side.’ 

^ And if not, my vain brother ? ’ said Tostig, gnawing his 
lip with envy. 

^ And if not, I will ride alone into the midst of them, and 
ask what Englishmen are there who will aim shaft or spear 
at this breast, never mailed against England ! ’ 

Godwin placed his hand on Harold’s head, and the tears 
came to those close cold eyes. 

^Thou knowest by nature what I have learned by art. 
Go, and prosper. Be it as thou wilt.’ 

^He takes thy post, Sweyn — thou art the elder,’ said 
Tostig, to the wild form by his side. 

^ There is guilt on my soul, and woe in my heart,’ answered 
Sweyn, moodily. ^ Shall Esau lose his birthright, and 
Cain retain it ? ’ So saying, he withdrew, and reclining 
against the stern of the vessel, leant his face upon the edge 
of his shield. 

Harold watched him with deep compassion in his eyes, 
passed to his side with a quick step, pressed his hand, and 
whispered, * Peace to the past, O my brother ! ’ 


HAROLD 


05 


The boy Haco, who had noiselessly followed his father, 
lifted his sombre, serious looks to Harold as he thus spoke ; 
and when Harold turned away, he said to Sweyn, timidly, 
‘He, at least, is ever good to thee and to me.’ 

‘ And thou, when I am no more, shalt cling to him as thy 
father, Haco,’ answered Sweyn, tenderly smoothing back the 
child’s dark locks. 

The boy shivered ; and, bending his head, murmured to 
himself, ‘ When thou art no more 1 No more ; Has the 
Vala doomed him, too ? Father and son, both 

Meanwhile, Harold had entered the boat lowered from the 
sides of the aesca to receive him ; and Gurth, looking 
appealingly to his father, and seeing no sign of dissent, 
sprang down after the young Earl, and seated himself by 
his side. 

Godwin followed the boat with musing eyes. 

‘ Small need,’ said he, aloud, but to himself, ‘ to believe 
in soothsayers, or to credit Hilda the saga, when she pro- 
phesied, ere we left our shores, that Harold ’ He 

stopped short, for Tostig’s wrathful exclamation broke on 
his reverie : 

‘ Father, father ! My blood surges in my ears, and boils 
in my heart, when I hear thee name the prophecies of Hilda 
in favour of thy darling. Dissension and strife in our house 
hare they wrought already ; and if the feuds between Harold 
and me have sown grey in thy locks, thank thyself when, 
flushed with vain soothsaying for thy favoured Harold, 
thou saidst, in the hour of our first childish broil, “ Strive 
not with Harold ; for his brothers will be his men.” ’ 

‘ Falsify the prediction,’ said Godwin, calmly ; ^ wise men 
may always make their own future, and seize their own 
fates. Prudence, patience, labour, valour ; these are the 
stars that rule the career of mortals.’ 

Tostig made no answer ; for the splash of oars was near, 
and two ships, containing the principal chiefs that had 
joined Godwin’s cause, came alongside the Runic aesca to 
hear the result of the message sent to the King. Tostig 
sprang to the vessel’s side, and exclaimed, ‘ The King, girt^ 
by his false counsellors, will hear us not, and arms must 
decide between us.’ 

^ Hold, hold ! malignant, unhappy boy ! ’ cried Godwin, 
between his grinded teeth, as a shout of indignant, yet 
joyous ferocity, broke from the crowded ships thus hailed. 

‘ The curse of all time be on him who draws the first native 
blood in sight of the altars and hearths of London ! Hear 
me, thou with the vulture’s blood-lust, and the peacock’s 
vain joy in the gaudy plume ! Hear me, Tostig, and tremble, 

E 


66 


HAROLD 


If but by one word thou widen the breach between me and 
the King, outlaw thou enterest England, outlaw shalt thou 
depart — for earldom and broad lands, choose the bread of 
the stranger, and the weregeld of the wolf ! ’ 

The young Saxon, haughty as he was, quailed at his 
father’s thrilling voice, bowed his head, and retreated sullenly. 
Godwin sprang on the deck of the nearest vessel, and all 
the passions that Tostig had aroused, he exerted his eloquence 
to appease. 

In the midst of his arguments there rose from the ranks 
on the strand the shout of ^ Harold ! Harold the Earl ! 
Harold and Holy Crosse ! ’ And Godwin, turning his eye 
to the King’s ranks, saw them agitated, swayed, and moving ; 
till suddenly from the very heart of the hostile array, came, 
as by irresistible impulse, the cry — ^ Harold, our Harold ! 
All hail, the good Earl ! ’ 

While this chanced without — within the palace, Edward 
had quitted the presence-chamber, and was closeted with 
Stigand, the bishop. This prelate had the more influence 
with Edward, inasmuch as though Saxon, he was held to be 
no enemy to the Normans, and had, indeed, on a former 
occasion, been deposed from his bishopric on the charge 
of too great an attachment to the Norman queen-mother 
Emma. Never in his whole life had Edward been so stub- 
born as on this occasion. For here, more than his realm 
was concerned, he was threatened in the peace of his house- 
hold, and the comfort of his tepid friendships. With the 
recall of his powerful father-in-law, he foresaw the necessary 
reintrusion of his wife upon the charm of his chaste solitude. 
His favourite Normans would be banished, he should be 
surrounded with faces he abhorred. All the representations 
of Stigand fell upon a stern and unyielding spirit, when 
Siward entered the King’s closet. 

' Sir, my King,’ said the great son of Beorn, ^I yielded to 
your kingly will in the council, that, before we listened to 
Godwin, he should disband his men, and submit to the 
judgment of the Witan. The Earl hath sent to me to say, 
that he will put honour and life in my keeping, and abide 
by my counsel. And I have answered as became the man 
who will never snare a foe or betray a trust.’ 

^ How hast thou answered ? ’ asked the King. 

‘^That he abide by the laws of England, as Dane and 
Saxon agreed to abide in the days of Canute ; that he and 
his sons shall make no claim for land and lordship, but sub- 
mit all to the Witan.’ 

‘^Good,’ said the King ; ^and the Witan will condemn him 
now, as it would have condemned when he shunned to meet it. 


HAROLD 


67 


^ And the Witan now,' returned the Earl^ emphatically, 
^ will be free, and fair, and just.’ 

^ And meanwhile the troops ’ 

* Will wait on either side ; and if reason fail, then the 
sword,’ said Siward. 

^This I will not hear,’ exclaimed Edward ; when the 
tramp of many feet thundered along the passage ; the door 
was flung open, and several captains (Norman as well as 
Saxon) of the King’s troops rushed in, wild, rude, and 
tumultuous. 

^ The troops desert ! half the ranks have thrown down 
their arms at the very name of Harold ! ’ exclaimed the Earl 
of Hereford. ^ Curses on the knaves ! ’ 

^ And the lithsmen of London,’ cried a Saxon thegn, ^ are 
all on his side, and marching already through the gates.’ 

‘ Pause yet,’ whispered Stigand ; * and who shall say, this 
hour to-morrow, if Edward or Godwin reign on the throne 
of Alfred.?’ 

His stern heart moved by the distress of his King, and 
not the less for the unwonted firmness which Edward dis 
played, Siward here approached, knelt, and took the King’s 
hand. 

* Siward can give no niddering counsel to hk King ; to 
save the blood of his subjects is never a King’s disgrace. 
Yield thou to mercy — Godwin to the law ! ’ 

* Oh for the cowl and cell ! ’ exclaimed the Prince, 
wringing his hands. ^ Oh Norman home, why did I leave 
thee .? ’ 

He took the cross from his breast, contemplated it fixedly, 
prayed silently but with fervour, and his face again became 
tranquil. 

' Go,’ he said, flinging himself on his seat in the exhaustion 
that follows passion, ^ go, Siward, go Stigand, deal with 
things mundane as ye will.’ 

The Bishop, satisfied with this reluctant acquiescence, 
seized Siward by the arm and withdrew him from the closet. 
The captains remained a few minutes behind, the Saxons 
silently gazing on the King, the Normans whispering each 
other, in great doubt and trouble, and darting looks of the 
bitterest scorn at their feeble benefactor. Then, as with one 
accord, these last rushed along the corridor, gained the hall 
where their countrymen yet assembled, and exclaimed, ^ A 
toute bride! Franc etrier! — All is lost but life ! — God for the 
first man — knife and cord for the last ! ’ 

Then, as the cry of fire, or as the first crash of an earth- 
quake, dissolves all union, and reduces all emotion into one 
thought of self-saving, the whole conclave, crowding pell 


OB 


HAROLD 


mell on each other, bustled, jostled, clamoured to the door 
— happy he who could find horse, palfrey — even monk’s 
mule ! This way, that way, fled those lordly Normans, 
those martial abbots, those mitred bishops — some singly, 
some in pairs : some by tens, and some by scores ; but all 
prudently shunning association with those chiefs whom 
they had most courted the day before, and who, they now 
knew, would be the main mark for revenge ; save only- 
two, who yet, from that awe of the spiritual power which 
characterised the Norman, who was already half monk, 
half soldier (Crusader and Templar before Crusades were 
yet preached, or the Templars yet dreamed of) — even in 
that hour of selfish panic rallied round them the prowest 
chivalry of their countrymen, viz., the Bishop of London 
and the Archbishop of Canterbury. Both these dignitaries, 
armed cap-a-pie, and spear in hand, headed the flight ; and 
good service that day, both as guide and champion, did 
Mallet de Graville. He led them in a circuit behind both 
armies, but being intercepted by a new body coming from 
the pastures of Hertfordshire to the help of Godwin, he 
was compelled to take the bold and desperate resort of 
entering the city gates. These were wide open ; whether 
to admit the Saxon Earls, or vomit forth their allies, the 
Londoners. Through these, up the narrow streets, riding 
three a-breast, dashed the slaughtering fugitives ; worthy 
in flight of their national renown, they trampled down 
every obstacle. Bodies of men drew up against them at 
every angle, with the Saxon cry of ^ Out ! — Out ! ’ * Down 
with the outland men !’ Through each, spear pierced, 
and sword clove, the way. Red with gore was the spear 
of the prelate of London ; broken to the hilt was the sword 
militant in the terrible hand of the Archbishop of Canter- 
bury. So on they rode, so on they slaughtered — gained the 
Eastern Gate, and passed with but two of their number 
lost. 

The fields once gained, for better precaution they sepa- 
rated. Some few, not quite ignorant of the Saxon tongue, 
doffed their mail, and crept through forest and fell towards 
the sea-shore ; others retained steed and arms, but shunned 
equally the highroads. The two prelates were among the 
last; they gained, in safety, Ness, in Essex, threw them- 
selves into an open, crazy fishing-boat, committed them- 
selves to the waves, and, half drowned, and half famished, 
drifted over the Channel to the French shores. Of the 
rest of the courtly foreigners, some took refuge in the 
forts yet held by their countrymen ; some lay concealed in 
creeks and caves till they could find or steal boats for their 


HAROLD 


r>9 

passage. And thus, in the year of our Lord 1052, occurred 
the notable dispersion and ignominious flight of the counts 
and vavasours of great William the Duke ! 


CHAPTER III 

The Witana-gemot was assembled in the Great Hall of 
Westminster in all its imperial pomp. 

It was on his throne that the King sate now — and it was 
the sword that was in his right hand. Some seated below, 
and some standing beside, the throne, were the officers of 
the Basileus of Britain. There, were to be seen camara- 
rius and pincerna, chamberlain and cupbearer ; disc thegn 
and hors thegn : the thegn of the dishes, and the thegn 
of the stud ; with many more, whose state offices may not 
impossibly have been borrowed from the ceremonial pomp 
of the Byzantine court ; for Edgar, king of England, had 
in the old time styled himself the Heir of Constantine. 
Next to these sat the clerks of the chapel, with the King’s 
confessor at their head. Officers were they of higher note 
than their name bespeaks, and wielders, in the trust of the 
Great Seal, of a power unknown of old, and now obnoxious 
to the Saxon. For tedious is suit which lingers for the 
king’s writ and the king’s seal ; and from those clerks shall 
arise hereafter a thing of torture and of might, which shall 
grind out the hearts of men, and be called Chancery ! 

Below the scribes a space was left on the floor, and 
farther down sat the chiefs of the Witan. Of these, first 
in order, both from their spiritual rank and their vast 
temporal possessions, sat the lords of the Church ; the 
chairs of the prelates of London and Canterbury were void. 
But still goodly was the array of Saxon mitres, with the 
harsh, hungry, but intelligent face of Stigand — Stigand 
the stout and the covetous ; and the benign but firm 
features of Aired, true priest and true patriot, distinguished 
amidst all. Around each prelate, as stars round a sun, 
were his own special priestly retainers, selected from his 
diocese. Farther still down the hall are the great civil 
lords and vice-king vassals of the ^Lord Paramount.’ 
Vacant the chair of the King of the Scots, for Siward hath 
not yet had his wish ; Macbeth is in his fastnesses, or lis- 
tening to the weird sisters in the wold ; and Malcolm is a 
fugitive in the halls of the Northumbrian earl. Vacant the 
chair of the hero Gryflfyth, son of Llewelyn, the dread of 
the marches. Prince of Gwyned, whose arms had subjugated 


70 


HAROLD 


all Cymry. But there, are the lesser sub-kiiigs of W ales, 
true to the immemorial schisms amongst themselves, which 
destroyed the realm of Ambrosius, and rendered vain the 
arm of Arthur. With their torques of gold, and wild eyes, 
and hair cut round ears and brow, they stare on the scene. 

On the same bench with these sub-kings, distinguished 
from them by height of stature, and calm collectedness of 
mien, no less than by their caps of maintenance and furred 
robes, are those props of strong thrones and terrors of 
weak — the earls to whom shires and counties fall, as hyde 
and carucate to the lesser thegns. But three of these were 
then present, and all three the foes to Godwin — Siward, 
Earl of Northumbria; Leofric of Mercia (that Leofric 
whose wife Godiva yet lives in ballad and song) ; and Rolf, 
Earl of Hereford and Worcestershire, who, strong in his 
claim of ^ king’s blood,’ left not the court with his Norman 
friends. And on the same benches, though a little apart, 
are the lesser earls, and that higher order of thegns, called 
king’s thegns. 

Not far from these sate the chosen citizens from the free 
burgh of London, already of great weight in the senate — 
sufficing often to turn its counsels ; all friends were they of 
the English Earl and his house. In the same division of 
the hall were found the bulk and true popular part of the 
meeting— popular indeed, as representing not the people, 
but the things the people most prized — valour and wealth ; 
the thegn, landowners, called in the old deeds the ^ Minis- 
ters ' : they sate with swords by their side, all of varying 
birth, fortune, and connection, whether with king, earl, or 
ceorl. For in the different districts of the old Heptarchy 
the qualification varied ; high in East Anglia, low in 
Wessex ; so that what was wealth in the one shire was 
poverty in the other. There sate, half a yeoman, the Saxon 
thegn of Berkshire or Dorset, proud of his five hydes of 
land ; there, half an ealdorman, the Danish thegn of 
Norfolk or Ely, discontented with his forty ; some were 
there in right of smaller offices under the crown ; some 
traders, and sons of traders, for having crossed the high 
seas three times at their own risk ; some could boast the 
blood of Offa and Egbert; and some traced but three 
generations back to neat-herd and ploughman ; and some 
were Saxons and some were Danes : and some from the 
western shires were by origin Britons, though little cogni- 
sant of their race. Farther down still, at the extreme end 
of the hall, crowding by the open doors, filling up the space 
without, were the ceorls themselves, a vast and not power- 
less body ; in these high courts (distinct from the shire 


HAROLD 


71 


gemotSj or local senates) — never called upon to vote or to 
speak or to act, or even to sign names to the doom, but 
only to shout ^ Yea, yea,’ when the proceres pronounced 
their sentence. Yet not powerless were they, but rather to 
the Witan what public opinion is to the VYitan’s successor, 
our modern parliament: they were opinion ! And accord- 
ing to their numbers and their sentiments, easily known 
and boldly murmured, often and often must that august 
court of basileus and prelate, vassal-king and mighty earl, 
have shaped the council and adjudged the doom. 

And the forms of the meeting had been duly said and 
done ; and the King had spoken words, no doubt wary and 
peaceful, gracious and exhortatory ; but those words— for 
his voice that day was weak — travelled not beyond the 
small circle of his clerks and his officers ; and a murmur 
buzzed through the hall, when Earl Godwin stood on the 
floor with his six sons at his back ; and you might have 
heard the hum of the gnat that vexed the smooth cheek of 
Earl Rolf, or the click of the spider from the web on the 
vaulted roof, the moment before Earl Godwin spoke. 

^ If,’ said he, with the modest look and downcast eye of 
practised eloquence, ^if 1 rejoice once more to breathe the 
air of England, in whose service, often perhaps with faulty 
deeds, but at all times with honest thoughts, I have, both 
in war and council, devoted so much of my life that little 
now remains — but (should you, my king, and you, pre- 
lates, proceres, and ministers so vouchsafe) to look round 
and select that spot of my native soil which shall receive 
my bones ; — if I rejoice to stand once more in that assembly 
which has often listened to my voice when our common 
country was in peril, who here will blame that joy.^ Who 
among my foes, if foes now I have, will not respect the old 
man’s gladness.^ Who amongst you, earls and thegns, 
would not grieve, if his duty bade him say to the grey- 
haired exile, '^In this English air you shall not breathe 
your last sigh — on this English soil you shall not find a 
grave!” Who amongst you would not grieve to say it.^’ 
(Suddenly he drew up his head and faced his audience.) 
^ Who amongst you hath the courage and the heart to say 
it.^ Yes, I rejoice that I am at last in an assembly fit to 
judge my cause, and pronounce my innocence. For what 
olfence was I outlawed } For what offence were I, and the 
six sons I have given to my land, to bear the wolfs penalty, 
and be chased and slain as the wild beasts } Hear me, and 
answer ! 

^ Eustace, Count of Boulogne, returning to his domains 
from a visit to our lord the King, entered the town of 


72 


HAROLD 


Dover in mail and on his war-steed ; his train did the same. 
Unknowing our laws and customs (for I desire to press 
light upon all old grievances, and will impute ill designs to 
none) these foreigners invade by force the private dwellings 
of citizens, and there select their quarters. Ye all know 
that this was the strongest violation of Saxon right ; ye 
know that the meanest ceorl hath the proverb on his lip, 
^'Everyman’s house is his castle.” One of the townsmen 
acting on this belief — which I have yet to learn was a false 
one — expelled from his threshold a retainer of the French 
Earl’s. The stranger drew his sword and wounded him ; 
blows followed — the stranger fell by the arm he had pro- 
voked. The news arrives to Earl Eustace; he and his 
kinsmen spur to the spot ; they murder the Englishman on 
his hearthstone ’ 

Here a groan, half-stifled and wrathful, broke from the 
ceorls at the end of the hall. Godwin held up his hand in 
rebuke of the interruption, and resumed : 

' This deed done, the outlanders rode through the streets 
with their drawn swords ; they butchered those who came 
in their way ; they trampled even children under their 
horses’ feet. The burghers armed, I thank the Divine 
Father, who gave me for my countrymen those gallant 
burghers ! They fought, as we English know how to fight ; 
they slew some nineteen or score of these mailed intruders ; 
they chased them from the town. Earl Eustace fled fast. 
Earl Eustace, we know, is a wise man : small rest took he, 
little bread broke he, till he pulled rein at the gate of 
Gloucester, where my lord the King then held court. He 
made his complaint. My Lord the King, naturally hearing 
but one side, thought the burghers in the wrong ; and, 
scandalised that such high persons of his own kith should 
be so aggrieved, he sent for me, in whose government the 
burgh of Dover is, and bade me chastise, by military execu- 
tion, those who had attacked the foreign Count. I appeal 
to the great Earls whom I see before me — to you, illustrious 
Leofric ; to you, renowned Siward — what value would ye set 
on your earldoms, if ye had not the heart and tlie power to 
see right done to the dwellers therein ? 

‘What was the course I proposed.^ Instead of martial 
execution, which would involve the whole burgh in one 
sentence, I submitted that the reeve and gerefas of the 
burgh should be cited to appear before the King and 
account for the broil. My lord, though ever most clement 
and loving to his good people, either unhappily moved 
against me or overswayed by the foreigners, was counselled 
to reject this mode of doing justice, which our laws, as 


HAROLD 


73 


settled under Edgar and Canute, enjoin. And because I 
would not — and I say in the presence of all, because 1, 
Godwin, son of W olnoth, durst not, if I would, have entered 
the free burgh of Dover with mail on my back and the 
doomsman at my right hand, these outlanders induced my 
lord the King to summon me to attend in prison (as for a 
sin of my own) the council of the Witau, convened at 
Gloucester, then filled with the foreigners, not, as I humbly 
opined, to do justice to me and my folk of Dover, but to 
secure to this Count of Boulogne a triumph over English 
liberties, and sanction his scorn for the value of English lives. 

‘ I hesitated, and was menaced with outlawry ; I armed 
in self-defence, and in defence of the laws of England ; I 
armed, that men might not be murdered on their hearth- 
stones, nor children trampled under the hoofs of a stranger’s 
war-steed. My lord the king gathered his troops round 
“the cross and the martlets.” Yon noble earls, Siward and 
Leofric, came to that standard, as (knowing not then my 
cause) was their duty to the Basileus of Britain. But when 
they knew my cause, and saw with me the dwellers of the 
land, against me the outland aliens, they righteously inter- 
posed. An armistice was concluded ; I agreed to refer all 
matters to a Witan held where it is held this day. My 
troops were disbanded ; but the foreigners induced my lord 
not only to retain his own, but to issue his Herr-bann for 
the gathering of hosts far and near, even allies beyond the 
seas. When I looked to London for the peaceful Witan, 
what saw I } The largest armament that had been collected 
in this reign — that armament headed by Norman knights. 
Was this the meeting where justice could be done mine and 
me } Nevertheless, what was my offer } That I and my six 
sons would attend, provided the usual sureties, agreeable to 
our laws, from which only thieves are excluded, were given 
that we should come and go life-free and safe. Twice this 
offer w^as made, twice refused ; and so I and my sons were 
banished. We went ; we have returned !’ 

' And in arms,’ murmured Earl Rolf, son-in-law to that 
Count Eustace of Boulogne, whose violence had been tem- 
perately and truly narrated. 

‘ And in arms,' repeated Godwin : ^ true ; in arms against 
the foreigners who had thus poisoned the ear of our gracious 
King; in arms, Earl Rolf; and at the first clash of those 
arms, Franks and foreigners have fled. We have no need of 
arms now. We are amongst our countrymen, and no 
Frenchman interposes between us and the ever gentle, ever 
generous nature of our born King. 

^ Peers and proceres, chiefs of this ^Yitan, perhaps the 


74 


HAROLD 


largest ever yet assembled iii man’s memory,, it is for you to 
decide whether I and mine, or the foreign fugitives, caused 
the dissensions in these realms ; whether our banishment 
was just or not ; whether in our return we have abused the 
power we possessed. Ministers, on those swords by your 
sides there is not one drop of blood ! At all events, in sub- 
mitting to you our fate, we submit to our own laws and our 
own race. I am here to clear myself, on my oath, of deed 
.and thought of treason. There are amongst my peers as 
king’s thegns those who will attest the same on my behalf, 
and prove the facts I have stated, if they are not sufficiently 
notorious. As for my sons, no crime can be alleged against 
them, unless it be a crime to have in their veins that blood 
which flows in mine — blood which they have learned from 
me to shed in defence of that beloved land to which they 
now ask to be recalled.’ 

The Earl ceased and receded behind his children, having 
artfully, by his very abstinence from the more heated elo- 
quence imputed to him often as a fault and a wile, produced 
a powerful effect upon an audience already prepared for his 
acquittal. 

But now as from the sons, Sweyn the eldest stepped forth, 
with a wandering eye and uncertain foot, there was a move- 
ment like a shudder amongst the large majority of the 
audience, and a murmur of hate or of horror. 

The young Earl marked the sensation his presence pro- 
duced, and stopped short. His breath came thick ; he 
raised his right hand, but spoke not. His voice died on his 
lips ; his eyes roved wildly round with a haggard stare more 
imploring than defying. Then rose, in his episcopal stole. 
Aired the bishop, and his clear sweet voice trembled as he 
spoke : 

^ Comes Sweyn, son of Godwin, here, to prove his inno- 
cence of treason against the King ? — if so, let him hold his 
peace ; for if the Witan acquit Godwin, son of Wolnoth, of 
that charge, the acquittal includes his House. But in the 
name of the holy Church here represented by his fathers, 
will Sweyn say, and fasten his word by oath, tliat he is 
guiltless of treason to the King of Kings — guiltless of sacri- 
lege that my lips shrink to name } Alas, that the duty falls 
on me — for I loved thee once, and love thy kindred now. 
But I am God’s servant before all things’ — The prelate 
paused, and gathering up new energy, added in unfaltering 
accents, charge thee here, Sweyn, the outlaw, that, 
moved by the fiend, thou didst bear off from God’s house 
and violate a daughter of the Church — Algive, Abbess of 
Leominster ! ’ 


HAROLD 


7.5 


^And 1/ cried Siward, rising to the full height of his 
stature, in the presence of these proceres, whose proudest 
title is milites or warriors — I charge Sweyn, son of Godwin, 
that, not in open field and hand to hand, but by felony and 
guile, he wrought the foul and abhorrent murder of his 
cousin, Beorn the Earl !’ 

At these two charges from men so eminent, the eftect upon 
the audience was startling. While those not influenced by 
Godwin raised their eyes, sparkling with wrath and scorn, 
upon the wasted, yet still noble face of the eldest born, even 
those most zealous on behalf of that popular House evinced 
no sympathy for its heir. Some looked down abashed and 
mournful — some regarded the accused with a cold unpitying 
gaze. Only perhaps among the ceorls, at the end of the 
liall, might be seen some compassion on anxious faces ; for 
before those deeds of crime had been bruited abroad, none 
among the sons of Godwin more blithe of mien and bold of 
hand, more honoured and beloved, than Sweyn the outlaw. 
But the hush that succeeded the charges was appalling in its 
depth. Godwin himself shaded his face with his mantle, 
and only those close by could see that his breast heaved and 
his limbs trembled. The brothers had shrunk from the side 
of the accused, outlawed even amongst his kin — all save 
Harold, who, strong in his blameless name and beloved 
repute, advanced three strides amidst the silence, and, 
standing by his brother’s side, lifted his commanding brow 
above the seated judges, but he did not speak. 

Then said Sweyn the Earl, strengthened by such solitary 
companionship in that hostile assemblage — ‘ 1 might answer 
that for these charges in the past, for deeds alleged as done 
eight long years ago, I have the King’s grace, and the inlaw’s 
right ; and that in the Witans over which I as earl presided, 
no man was twice judged for the same offence. That I hold 
to be the law, in the great councils as the small.’ 

'It is! it is!’ exclaimed Godwin, his paternal feelings 
conquering his prudence and his decorous dignity. ' Hold 
to it, my son ! ’ 

'1 hold to it not,’ resumed the young earl, casting a 
haughty glance over the somewhat blank and disappointed 
faces of his foes, ' for my law is here ’ — and he smote his 
heart — 'and that condemns me not once alone, but ever- 
more ! Aired, O holy father, at whose knees I once con- 
fessed my every sin, I blame thee not that thou first, in 
the Witan, liftest thy voice against me, though thou 
knowest that I loved Algive from youth upward ; she, with 
her heart yet mine, was given in the last year of Hardi- 
Canute, when might was right, to the Church. I met her 


76 


HAROLD 


agaiii^ Hushed with my victories over the Walloon kings, 
with power in my hand and passion in my veins. Deadly 
was my sin ! — But what asked I ? that vows compelled 
should be annulled ; that the love of my youth might yet 
be the wife of my manhood. Pardon, that I knew not then 
how eternal are the bonds ye of the Church have woven 
round those of whom, if ye fail of saints, ye may at least 
make martyrs ! ’ 

He paused, and his lip curled, and his eye shot wild fire ; 
for in that moment his mother’s blood was high within him, 
and he looked and thought, perhaps, as some heathen Dane ; 
but the flash of the former man was momentary, and humbly 
smiting his breast, he murmured — 'Avaunt, Satan ! — yea, 
deadly was my sin ! And the sin was mine alone ; Algive, 
if stained, was blameless ; she escaped — and — and died ! 

' The King was wroth ; and first to strive against my 
pardon was Harold my brother, who now alone in my 
penitence stands by my side : he strove manfully and openly ; 
1 blamed him not : but Beorn, my cousin, desired my earl- 
dom, and he strove against me wilily and in secret — to my 
face kind, behind my back despiteful. I detected his false- 
hood, and meant to detain, but not to slay him. He lay 
bound in my ship ; he reviled and he taunted me in the 
hour of my gloom ; and when the blood of the sea-kings 
flowed in fire through my veins. And I lifted my axe in ire ; 
and my men lifted theirs, and so — and so ! — Again I say — 
Deadly was my sin ! 

' Think not that I seek now- to make less my guilt, as I 
sought when I deemed that life was yet long, and power was 
yet sweet. Since then I have known worldly evil and worldly 
good — the storm and the shine of life ; I have swept the 
seas, a sea-king ; I have battled with the Dane in his native 
land ; I have almost grasped in my right hand, as I grasped 
in my dreams, the crown of my kinsman, Canute ; — again, I 
have been a fugitive and an exile : — again, I have been in- 
lawed, and Earl of all the lands from Isis to the Wye. And 
whether in state or in penury — whether in war or in peace, 
I have seen the pale face of the nun betrayed, and the gory 
wounds of the murdered man. Wherefore I come not here 
to plead for a pardon, which would console me not, but 
formally to dissever my kinsmen’s cause from mine, which 
alone sullies and degrades it ; — I come here to say, that, 
coveting not your acquittal, fearing not your judgment, I 
pronounce mine own doom. Cap of noble, and axe of 
warrior, I lay aside for ever ; barefooted, and alone, I go 
hence to the Holy Sepulchre ; there to assoil my soul, and 
implore that grace which cannot come from man ! Harold, 


HAROLD 


77 


step forth in the place of Sweyn the first-born ! And ye 
prelates and peers, milites and ministers, proceed to adjudge 
the living ! To you, and to England, he who now quits you 
is the dead ! ’ 

He gathered his robe of state over his breast as a monk 
his gown, and looking neither to right nor to left, passed 
slowly down the hall, through the crowd, which made way 
for him in awe and silence ; and it seemed to the assembly 
as if a cloud had gone from the face of day. 

And Godwin still stood with his face covered by his robe. 

And Harold anxiously watched the faces of the assembly, 
and saw no relenting ! 

And Gurth crept to Harold’s side. 

And the gay Leofwine looked sad. 

And the young Wolnoth turned pale and trembled. 

And the fierce Tostig played with his golden chain. 

And one low sob w'as heard, and it came from the breast 
of Aired the meek accuser, — God’s firm but gentle priest. 


CHAPTER IV 

This memorable trial ended, as the reader will have foreseen, 
in the formal renewal of Sweyn’s outlawry, and the formal 
restitution of the Earl Godwin and his other sons to their 
lands and honours, with declarations imputing all the blame 
of the late dissensions to the foreign favourites, and sentence 
of banishment against them, except only, by way of a bitter 
mockery, some varlets of low degree, such as Humphrey 
Cock’s-foot, and Richard son of Scrob. 

The return to power of this able and vigorous family was 
attended with an instantaneous effect upon the long-relaxed 
strings of the imperial government. Macbeth heard, and 
trembled in his moors ; Gryffyth of Wales lit the fire-beacon 
on moel and craig. Earl Rolf was banished, but merely as 
a nominal concession to public opinion ; his kinship to 
Edward sufficed to restore him soon, not only to England, 
but to the lordship of the Marches ; and thither was he sent, 
with adequate force, against the Welch, who had half re- 
possessed themselves of the borders they harried. Saxon 
prelates and abbots replaced the Norman fugitives ; and all 
were contented with the revolution, save the King, for the 
King lost his Norman friends, and regained his English 
wife. 

In conformity with the usages of the time, hostages of the 


78 


HAROLD 


loyalty and faith of Godwin were required and conceded. 
They were selected from his own family ; and the choice fell 
on Wolnoth, his son, and Haco, the son of Sweyn. As, 
when nearly all England may be said to have repassed to the 
hands of Godwin, it would have been an idle precaution to 
consign these hostages to the keeping of Edward, it was 
settled, after some discussion, that they should be placed in 
the Court of the Norman Duke until such time as the King, 
satisfied with the good faith of the family, should authorise 
their recall : — Fatal hostage, fatal ward and host ! 

It was some days after this national crisis, and order and 
peace were again established in city and land, forest and 
shire, when, at the setting of the sun, Hilda stood alone by 
altar-stone of Thor. 

The orb was sinking red and lurid, amidst long cloud- 
wracks of vermeil and purple, and not one human form 
was seen in the landscape, save that tall and majestic figure 
by the Runic shrine and the Druid crommell. She was 
leaning both hands on her wand, or seid-staff, as it was 
called in the language of Scandinavian superstition, and 
■ bending slightly forward as in the attitude of listening or 
expectation. Long before any form appeared on the road 
below she seemed to be aware of coming footsteps, and 
probably her habits of life had sharpened her senses ; for 
she smiled, muttered to herself, ^ Ere it sets ! ’ and changing 
her posture, leant her arm on the altar, and rested her face 
upon her hand. 

At length, two figures came up the road ; they neared 
the hill ; they saw her, and slowly ascended the knoll. The 
one was dressed in the serge of a pilgrim, and his cowl 
thrown back, showed the face where human beauty and 
human power lay ravaged and ruined by human passions. 
He upon whom the pilgrim lightly leaned was attired simply, 
without the brooch or bracelet common to thegns of high 
degree, yet his port was that of majesty, and his brow that 
of mild command. A greater contrast could not be con- 
ceived than that between these two men, yet united by a 
family likeness. For the countenance of the last described 
was, though sorrowful at that moment, and indeed habitu- 
ally not without a certain melancholy, wonderfully imposing 
from its calm and sweetness. There, no devouring passions 
had left the cloud or ploughed the line ; but all the smooth 
loveliness of youth took dignity from the conscious resolve 
of man. The long hair, of a fair brown, with a slight tinge 
of gold, as the last sunbeams shot through its luxuriance, 
was parted from the temples, and fell in large waves half- 
way to the shoulder. The eyebrows, darker in hue, arched 


HAROLD 


79 


and finely traced ; the straight features, not less manly than 
the Norman, but less strongly marked : the cheek, hardy 
with exercise and exposure, yet still retaining somewhat of 
youthful bloom under the pale bronze of its sunburnt sur- 
face : the form tall, not gigantic, and vigorous rather from 
perfect proportion and athletic habits than from breadth 
and bulk — were all singularly characteristic of the Saxon 
beauty in its highest and purest type. But what chiefly 
distinguished this personage, was that peculiar dignity, so 
simple, so sedate, which no pomp seems to dazzle, no danger 
to disturb ; and which perhaps arises from a strong sense 
of self-dependence, and is connected with self-respect — a 
dignity common to the Indian and the Arab, and rare 
except in that state of society in which each man is a power 
in himself. The Latin tragic poet touches close upon that 
sentiment in the fine lines — 

‘ Rex est qui metuit nihil ; 

Hue regnum sibi quisque dat.’^ 

So stood the brothers, Sweyn the outlaw and Harold the 
Earl, before the reputed prophetess. She looked on both 
with a steady eye, which gradually softened almost into 
tenderness as it finally rested upon the pilgrim. 

‘ And is it thus,’ she said at last, ‘ that I see the firstborn 
of Godwin the fortunate, for whom so often I have tasked 
the thunder, and watched the setting sun.^ for whom my 
runes have been graven on the bark of the elm, and the 
Scin-lsBca been called in pale splendour from the graves of 
the dead ? ’ 

^ Hilda,’ said Sweyn, ^ not now will I accuse thee of the 
seeds thou hast sown : the harvest is gathered and the sickle 
is broken. Abjure thy dark Galdra, and turn as I to the 
sole light in the future, which shines from the tomb of the 
Son Divine.’ 

The Prophetess bowed her head and replied — 

^Belief cometh as the wind. Can the tree say to the 
wind, “ Rest thou on my boughs ” ; or Man to Belief, Fold 
thy wings on my heart ” } Go where thy soul can find com- 
fort, for thy life hath passed from its uses on earth. And 
when I would read thy fate, the runes are as blanks, and 
the wave sleeps unstirred on the fountain. Go where the 
Fylgia, whom Alfader gives to each at his birth, leads thee. 
Thou didst desire love that seemed shut from thee, and I 
predicted that thy love should awake from the charnel in 

1 Seneca, Thyest. Act ii. : ‘ He is a king who fears nothing ; that 
kingdom every man gives to himself,’ 


80 


HAROLD 


which the creed that succeeds to the faith of our sires inters 
life in its bloom. And thou didst covet the fame of the 
Jarl and the Viking, and I blessed thine axe to thine hand, 
and wove the sail for thy masts. So long as man knows 
desire, can Hilda have power over his doom. But when the 
heart lies in ashes, I raise but a corpse, that at the hush of 
the charm falls again into its grave. Yet, come to me 
nearer, O Sweyn, whose cradle I rocked to the chant of 
my rhyme.’ 

The outlaw turned aside his face, and obeyed. 

She sighed as she took his passive hand in her own, and 
examined the lines on the palm. 'Fhen, as if by an involun- 
tary impulse of fondness and pity, she put aside his cowl 
and kissed his brow. 

^Thy skein is spun, and happier than the many who 
scorn, and the few who lament thee, thou shalt win where 
they lose. The steel shall not smite thee, the storm shall 
forbear thee, the goal that thou yearnest for thy steps shall 
attain. Night hallows the ruin — and peace to the shattered 
wrecks of the brave ! ’ 

The outlaw heard as if unmoved. But when he turned 
to Harold, who covered his face with his hand, but could not 
restrain the tears that flowed through the clasped fingers, 
a moisture came into his own wild, bright eyes, and he said, 
^ Now, my brother, farewell, for no further step shalt thou 
wend with me.’ 

Harold started, opened his arms, and the outlaw fell upon 
his breast. 

No sound was heard save a single sob, and so close was 
breast to breast, that you could not say from whose heart it 
came. Then the outlaw wrenched himself from the em- 
brace, and murmured, ^And Haco— my son — motherless, 
fatherless — hostage in the land of the stranger ! Thou wilt 
remember — thou wilt shield him ; thou be to him mother, 
father in the days to come ! So may the saints bless thee ! ’ 
With these words he sprang down the hillock. 

Harold bounded after him ; but Sweyn, halting, said, 
mournfully, ^ Is this thy promise } Am I so lost that faith 
should be broken even with thy father’s son } ’ 

At that touching rebuke Harold paused, and the outlaw 
passed his way alone. As the last glimpse of his figure 
vanished at the turn of the road, whence, on the second of 
May, the Norman Duke and the Saxon King had emerged 
side by side, the short twilight closed abruptly, and up from 
the far forest-land rose the moon. 

Harold stood rooted to the spot, and still gazing on the 
space, when the Vala laid her hand on his arm. 


HAROLD 


6l 

‘ Behold, as the moon rises on the troubled gloaming, so 
rises the fate of Harold, as yon brief, human shadow, halting 
between light and darkness, passes away to night. Thou 
art now the first-born of a House that unites the hopes of 
the Saxon with the fortunes of the Dane.’ 

^Thinkest thou,’ said Harold, with a stern composure, 
^that I can have joy and triumph in a brother’s exile and 
woe ? ’ 

^ Not now, and not yet, will the voice of thy true nature 
be heard ; but the warmth of the sun brings the thunder, 
and the glory of fortune wakes the storm of the soul.’ 

‘ Kinswoman,’ said Harold, with a slight curl of his lip, 
‘ by me at least have thy prophecies ever passed as the 
sough of the air ; neither in horror nor with faith do I think 
of thy incantations and charms ; and I smile alike at the 
exorcism of the shaveling and the spells of the Saga. I 
have asked thee not to bless mine axe, nor weave my sail. 
No runic rhyme is on the sword-blade of Harold. 1 leave 
my fortunes to the chance of mine own cool brain and strong 
arm. Vala, between thee and me there is no bond.’ 

The Prophetess smiled loftily. 

^ And what thinkest thou, O self-dependent ! what thiiik- 
est thou is the fate which thy brain and thine arm shall 
win } ’ 

^The fate they have won already. I see no Beyond. 
The fate of a man sworn to guard his country, love justice, 
and do right.’ 

The moon shone full on the heroic face of the young Earl 
as he spoke ; and on its surface there seemed nought to belie 
the noble words. Yet, the Prophetess, gazing earnestly on 
that fair countenance, said, in a whisper, that, despite a 
reason singularly sceptical for the age in which it had been 
cultured, thrilled to the Saxon’s heart, ^ Under that calm 
eye sleeps the soul of thy sire, and beneath that brow, so 
haught and so pure, works the genius that crowned the 
kings of the north in the lineage of thy mother the Dane.’ 

‘ Peace ! ’ said Harold, almost fiercely ; then, as if 
ashamed of the weakness of his momentary irritation, he 
added, with a faint smile, ^ Let us not talk of these matters 
while my heart is still sad and away from the thoughts of 
the world, with my brother the lonely outlaw. Night is 
on us, and the ways are yet unsafe ; for the king’s troops, 
disbanded in haste, were made up of many who turn to 
robbers in peace. Alone, and unarmed, save my ateghar, 
I would crave a night’s rest under thy roof ; and ’ — he 
hesitated, and a slight blush came over his cheek — ‘ and I 
would fain see if your grandchild is as fair as when I last 


F 


82 HAROLD 

looked on her blue eyes, that then wept for Harold ere he 
went into exile.’ 

^ Her tears are not at her command, nor her smiles,’ said 
the Vala, solemnly ; ^ her tears flow from the fount of thy 
sorrows, and her smiles are the beams from thy joys. For 
know, O Harold ! that Edith is thine earthly Fylgia ; thy 
fate and her fate are as one. And vainly as man would 
escape from his shadow, would soul wrench itself from the 
soul that Skulda hath linked to his doom.’ 

Harold made no reply ; but his step, habitually slow, 
grew more quick and light, and this time his reason found 
no fault with the oracles of the Vala. 


CHAPTER V 

As Hilda entered the hall, the various idlers accustomed to 
feed at her cost were about retiring, some to their homes 
in the vicinity, some, appertaining to the household, to the 
dormitories in the old Roman villa. 

It was not the habit of the Saxon noble, as it was of the 
Norman, to put hospitality to profit, by regarding his guests 
in the light of armed retainers. Liberal as the Briton, the 
cheer of the board and the shelter of the roof were afforded 
with a hand equally unselfish and indiscriminate ; and the 
doors of the more wealthy and munificent might be almost 
literally said to stand open from morn to eve. 

As Harold followed the Vala across the vast atrium, his 
face was recognised, and a shout of enthusiastic welcome 
greeted the popular Earl. The only voices that did not 
swell that cry were those of three monks from a neigh- 
bouring convent, who chose to wink at the supposed prac- 
tices of the Morthwyrtha, from the affection they bore to 
her ale and mead, and the gratitude they felt for her ample 
gifts to their convent. 

‘ One of the wicked House, brother,’ whispered the monk. 

^Yea; mockers and scorners are Godwin and his lewd 
sons,’ answered the monk. 

And all three sighed and scowled, as the door closed on 
the hostess and her stately guest. 

Two tall and not ungraceful lamps lighted the same 
chamber in which Hilda was first presented to the reader. 
The handmaids were still at their spindles, and the M'hite 
web nimbly shot as the mistress entered. She paused, and 
her brow knit, as she eyed the work. 


\ 


HAROLD 


83 


^ But three parts done ? ’ she said ; ^ weave fast, and weave 
strong. ’ 

Harold, not heeding the maids or their task, gazed inquir- 
ingly round, and from a nook near the window, Edith 
sprang forward with a joyous cry, and a face all glowing 
with delight — sprang forward, as if to the arms of a brother ; 
but, within a step or so of that noble guest, she stopped 
short, and her eyes fell to the ground. 

Harold held his breath in admiring silence. The child 
he had loved from her cradle stood before him as a woman. 
Even since we last saw her, in the interval between the 
spring and the autumn, the year had ripened the youth of 
the maiden, as it had mellowed the fruits of the earth ; and 
her cheek was rosy with the celestial blush, and her form 
rounded to the nameless grace, which say that infancy is 
no more. 

He advanced and took her hand, but for the first time in 
his life in their greetings, he neither gave nor received the 
kiss. 

^ You are no child now, Edith,’ said he, involuntarily ; 
^but still set apart, I pray you, some remains of the old 
childish love for Harold.’ 

Edith’s charming lips smiled softly ; she raised her eyes 
to his, and their innocent fondness spoke through happy 
tears. 

But few words passed in the short interval between 
Harold’s entrance and his retirement to the chamber pre- 
pared for him in haste. Hilda herself led him to a rude 
ladder which admitted to a room above, evidently added, 
by some Saxon lord, to the old Roman pile. The ladder 
show'ed the precaution of one accustomed to sleep in the 
midst of peril ; for by a kind of windlass in the room, it 
could be drawn up at the inmate’s will, and, so drawn, left 
below a dark and deep chasm, delving down to the founda- 
tions of the house ; nevertheless the room itself had all the 
luxury of the time ; the bedstead was quaintly carved, and 
of some rare wood ; a trophy of arms — though very ancient, 
sedulously polished — hung on the wall. There were the 
small round shield and spear of the earlier Saxon, with his 
vizorless helm, and the short curved knife or saex, from 
which some antiquarians deem that the Saxish men take 
their renowned name. 

Edith, following Hilda, proffered to the guest, on a salver 
of gold, ^iced wines and confections ; while Hilda, silently 
and unperceived, waved her seid staff over the bed, and 
rested her pale hand on the pillow. 

^Nay, sweet cousin,’ said Harold, smiling, ^this is not 


84 


HAROLD 


one of tlie fashions of old, but rather, inethinks, borrowed 
from the Frankish manners in the court of King Edward.’ 

^Not so, Harold,’ answered Hilda, quickly turning; 
^such was ever the ceremony due to Saxon king, when he 
slept in a subject’s house, ere our kinsmen the Danes intro- 
duced that unroyal wassail, which left subject and king 
unable to hold or quaff cup, when the board was left for 
the bed.’ 

^Thou rebukest, O Hilda, too tauntingly, the pride of 
Godwin’s house, when thou givest to his homely son the 
ceremonial of a king. But, so served, I envy not kings, 
fair Edith.’ 

He took the cup, raised it to his lips, and when he placed 
it on the small table by his side, the women had left the 
chamber, and he was alone. He stood for some minutes 
absorbed in reverie, and his soliloquy ran somewhat thus : — 

^ Why said the Vala that Edith’s fate was inwoven with 
mine.^ And why did 1 believe and bless the Vala when 
she so said ? Can Edith ever be my wife ? The monk-king 
designs her for the cloister — Woe and w’ell-a-day ! — Sweyii, 
Sw^eyn, let thy doom forewarn me ! And if 1 stand up in 
my place and say, ^^Give age and grief to the cloister — 
youth and delight to man’s hearth,” what will answer the 
monks Edith cannot be thy wife, son of Godwin, for 
faint and scarce traced though your affinity of blood, ye are 
within the banned degrees of the Church. Edith may be 
wife to another, if thou wilt — barren spouse of the Church, 
or mother of children who lisp not Harold’s name as their 
father.” Out on these priests with their mummeries, and 
out on their w ar upon human hearts ! ’ 

His fair brow grew stern and fierce as the Norman Duke’s 
ill his ire ; and had you seen him at that moment you would 
have seen the true brother of Sweyn. He broke from his 
thoughts with the strong effort of a man habituated to self- 
control, and advanced to the narrow^ window, opened the 
lattice, and looked out. 

The moon was in all her splendour. The long deep 
shadows of the breathless forest chequered the silvery w hite- 
ness of open sward and intervening glade. Ghostly arose 
on the knoll before him the grey columns of the mystic 
Druid — dark and indistinct the bloody altar of the Warrior 
god. But there his eye w^as arrested ; for whatever is least 
distinct and defined in a landscape has the charm that is 
the strongest ; and, while he gazed, he thought that a pale 
phosphoric light broke from the mound with the bautasteiii, 
that rose by the Teuton altar. He thought , for he was not 
sure that it was not some cheat of the fancy. Gazing still. 


HAROLD 


8.5 


iu the centre of that light, there appeared to gleam forth 
for one moment a form of superhuman height. It was the 
form of a man, that seemed clad in arms like those on the 
wall, leaning on a spear, whose point was lost behind the 
shafts of the crommell. And the face grew in that moment 
distinct from the light which shimmered around it, a face 
large as some early god’s, but stamped with unutterable 
and solemn woe. He drew back a step, passed his hand 
over his eyes, and looked again. Light and figure alike had 
vanished ; nought was seen save the grey columns and the 
dim fane. The Earl’s lip curved in derision of his weakness. 
He closed the lattice, undressed, knelt for a moment or so 
by the bedside, and his prayer was brief and simple, nor 
accompanied with the crossings and signs customary in his 
age. He rose, extinguished the lamp, and threw himself 
on the bed. 

The moon, thus relieved of the lamp-light, came clear and 
bright through the room, shone on trophied arms, and fell 
upon Harold’s face, casting its brightness on the pillow on 
which the Vala had breathed her charm. And Harold slept 
— slept long, — his face calm, his breathing regular : but ere 
the moon sunk and the dawn rose, the features were dark 
and troubled, the breath came by gasps, the brow was knit, 
and the teeth clenched. 




BOOK IV 


THE HEATHEN ALTAR AND THE SAXON CHURCH 

CHAPTER I 

While Harold sleeps, let us here pause to survey for the 
first time the greatness of that House to which Sweyn’s exile 
had left him the heir. The fortunes of Godwin had been 
those which no man not eminently versed in the science of 
his kind can achieve. Though the fable which some modern 
historians of great name have repeated and detailed, as to 
his early condition as the son of a cow-herd, is utterly 
groundless, and he belonged to a house all-powerful at the 
time of his youth, he was unquestionably the builder of his 
own greatness. That he should rise so high in the early 
part of his career was less remarkable than that he should 
have so long continued the possessor of a power and state in 
reality more than regal. 

But, as has been before implied, Godwin’s civil capacities 
were more prominent than his warlike. And this it is which 
invests him with that peculiar interest which attracts us to 
those who knit our modern intelligence with the past. In 
that dim world before the Norman deluge, we are startled to 
recognise the gifts that ordinarily distinguish a man of peace 
in a civilised age. 

His father, Wolnoth, had been ^Childe’ of the South 
Saxons, or thegn of Sussex, a nephew of Edric Streone, Earl 
of Mercia, the unprincipled but able minister of Ethelred, 
who betrayed his master to Canute, by whom, according to 
most authorities, he was righteously, though not very legally, 
slain as a reward for the treason. 

‘ I promised,’ said the Dane King, * to set thy head higher 
than other men’s, and I keep my word.’ The trunkless head 
was set on the gates of London. 

Wolnoth had quarrelled with his uncle Brightric, Edric’s 


HAROLD 


87 

brother, and before the arrival of Canute, had betaken him- 
self to the piracy of a sea-chief, seduced twenty of the king’s 
ships, plundered the southern coasts, burnt the royal navy, 
and then his history disappears from the chronicles ; but 
immediately afterwards the great Danish army, called Thur- 
kell’s Host, invaded the coast, and kept their chief station 
on the Thames. Tlieir victorious arms soon placed the 
country almost at their command. The traitor Edric joined 
them with a power of more than 10,000 men ; and it is pro- 
bable enough that the ships of Wolnoth had before this time 
melted amicably into the armament of the Danes. If this, 
which seems the most likely conjecture, be received, Godwin, 
then a mere youth, would naturally have commenced his 
career in the cause of Canute ; and as the son of a formidable 
chief of thegn’s rank, and even as kinsman to Edric, who, 
whatever his crimes, must have retained a party it was wise 
to conciliate, Godwin’s favour with Canute, whose policy 
would lead him to show marked distinction to any able Saxon 
follower, ceases to be surprising. 

The son of W olnoth accompanied Canute in his military 
expedition to the Scandinavian continent, and here a signal 
victory, planned by Godwin, and executed solely by himself 
and the Saxon band under his command, without aid from 
Canute’s Danes, made the most memorable military exploit 
of his life, and confirmed his rising fortunes. 

Edric, though he is said to have been low-born, had married 
the sister of King Ethelred ; and as Godwin advanced in 
fame, Canute did not disdain to bestow his own sister in 
marriage on the eloquent favourite, who probably kept no 
small portion of the Saxon population to their allegiance. 
On the death of this, his first wife, who bore him but one 
son (who died by accident), he found a second spouse in the 
same royal house ; and the mother of his six living sons and 
two daughters was the niece of his king, and sister of Sweyn, 
who subsequently filled the throne of Denmark. After the 
death of Canute, the Saxon’s predilections in favour of the 
Saxon line became apparent ; but it was either his policy or 
his principles always to defer to the popular will as expressed 
in the national council ; and on the preference given by the 
Witan to Harold the son of Canute over the heirs of Ethel- 
red, he yielded his own inclinations. The great power of 
the Danes, and the amicable fusion of their race with the 
Saxon which had now taken place, are apparent in this deci- 
sion ; for not only did Earl Leofric, of Mercia, though him- 
self a Saxon (as well as the Earl of Northumbria, with the 
thegns north of the Thames), declare for Harold the Dane, 
but the citizens of London w'ere of the same party; and 


88 HAROLD 

Godwin represented little more than the feeling of his own 
principality of Wessex. 

From that time^ Godwin, however, became identified with 
the English cause ; and even many who believed him guilty 
of some share in the murder, or at least the betrayal of 
Alfred, Edward’s brother, sought excuses in the disgust with 
which Godwin had regarded the foreign retinue that Alfred 
had brought with him, as if to owe his throne to Norman 
swords, rather than to English hearts. 

Hardicanute, who succeeded Harold, whose memory he ab- 
horred, whose corpse he disinterred and flung into a fen, had 
been chosen by the unanimous council both of English and 
Danish thegns ; and despite Hardicanute’s first vehement 
accusations of Godwin, the Earl still remained throughout 
that reign as powerful as in the tw'o preceding it. When 
Hardicanute dropped down dead at a marriage banquet, it was 
Godwin who placed Edward upon the throne ; and that great 
Earl must either have been conscious of his innocence of the 
murder of Edward’s brother, or assured of his own irrespon- 
sible power, when he said to the prince who knelt at his 
feet, and, fearful of the difficulties in his way, implored the 
Earl to aid his abdication of the throne and return to 
Normandy — 

'You are the son of Ethelred, grandson of Edgar. Reign, 
it is your duty ; better to live in glory than die in exile. 
You are of mature years, and having known sorrow and need, 
can better feel for your people. Rely on me, and there will 
be none of the difficulties you dread ; whom I favour, 
England favours.’ 

And shortly afterwards, in the national assembly, Godwin 
won Edward his throne. ' Powerful in speech, powerful in 
bringing over people to what he desired, some yielded to his 
words, some to bribes.’ Verily, Godwin was a man to have 
risen as high, had he lived later ! 

So Edward reigned ; and, agreeably, it is said, with previous 
stipulations, married the daughter of his king- maker. 
Beautiful as Edith the Queen was in mind and in person, 
Edward apparently loved her not. She dwelt in his palace, 
his wife only in name. 

Tostig (as we have seen) had married the daughter of 
Baldwin, Count of Flanders, sister to Matilda, wife to the 
Norman Duke: and thus the house of Godwin was triply 
allied to princely lineage — the Danish, the Saxon, the 
Flemish. And Tostig might have said, as in his heart 
William the Norman said, ' My children shall descend from 
Charlemagne and Alfred.’ 

Godwin s life, though thus outwardly brilliant, was too 


HAROLD 


89 


incessantly passed in public affairs and politic schemes to 
allow the worldly man much leisure to watch over the 
nurture and rearing of the bold spirits of his sons. Githa 
his wife, the Dane, a v^oman with a haughty but noble 
spirit, imperfect education, and some of the wild and law- 
less blood derived from her race of heathen sea-kings, was 
more fitted to stir their ambition and inflame their fancies, 
than curb their tempers and mould their hearts. 

W e have seen the career of Sweyn ; but Sweyn was an 
angel of light compared to his brother Tostig. He who can 
be penitent has ever something lofty in his original nature ; 
but Tostig was remorseless as the tiger, as treacherous and 
as fierce. With less intellectual capacities than any of his 
brothers, he had more personal ambition than all put to- 
gether. A kind of effeminate vanity, not uncommon with 
daring natures (for the bravest races and the bravest soldiers 
are usually the vainest ; the desire to shine is as visible in 
the fop as in the hero), made him restless both for command 
and notoriety. ^ May I ever be in the mouths of men,’ was 
his favourite prayer. Like his maternal ancestry, the Danes, 
he curled his long hair, and went as a bridegroom to the 
feast of the ravens. 

Two only of that house had studied the Humane Letters, 
which were no longer disregarded by the princes of the 
Continent ; they were the sweet sister, the eldest of the 
family, fading fast in her loveless home, and Harold. 

But Harold’s mind — in which what we call common sense 
was carried to genius — a mind singularly practical and saga- 
cious, like his father’s, cared little for theological learning 
and priestly legend— for all that poesy of religion in which 
the Woman was wafted from the sorrows of earth. 

Godwin himself was no favourite of the Church, and had 
seen too much of the abuses of the Saxon priesthood (per- 
haps, with few exceptions, the most corrupt and illiterate in 
all Europe, which is saying much) to instil into his children 
that reverence for the spiritual authority which existed 
abroad ; and the enlightenment, which in him was experience 
in life, was in Harold, betimes, the result of study and 
reflection. The few books of the classical world then within 
reach of the student opened to the young Saxon views of 
human duties and human responsibilities utterly distinct 
from the unmeaning ceremonials and fleshly mortifications 
in which even the higher theology of that day placed the 
elements of virtue. He smiled in scorn when some Dane, 
whose life had been passed in the alternate drunkenness of 
wine and of blood, thought he had opened the gates of 
heaven by bequeathing lands gained by a robber’s sword to 


90 


HAROLD 


pamper the lazy sloth of some fifty monks. If those monks 
had presumed to question his own actions, his disdain 
would have been mixed with simple wonder that men so 
besotted in ignorance, and who couldfnot construe the Latin 
of the very prayers they pattered, should presume to be the 
judges of educated men. It is possible — for his nature was 
earnest— that a pure and enlightened clergy, that even a 
clergy, though defective in life, zealous in duty and culti- 
vated in mind — such a clergy as Alfred sought to found, and 
as Lanfranc endeavoured (not without some success) to 
teach — would have bowed his strong sense to tliat grand and 
subtle truth which dwells in spiritual authority. But as it 
was, he stood aloof from the rude superstition of his age, and 
early in life made himself the arbiter of his own conscience. 
Reducing his religion to the simplest elements of our creed, 
he found rather in the books of Heathen authors than in the 
lives of the saints, his notions of the larger morality which 
relates to the citizen and the man. The love of country ; 
the sense of justice ; fortitude in adverse, and temperance in 
prosperous fortune, became portions of his very mind. 
Unlike his father, he played no actor’s part in those qualities 
which had won him the popular heart. He was gentle and 
affable ; above all, he was fair-dealing and just, not because 
it was politic to seerriy but his nature to he, so. 

Nevertheless Harold’s character, beautiful and sublime in 
many respects as it was, had its strong leaven of human im- 
perfection in that very self-dependence which was born of 
his reason and his pride. In resting so solely on man’s per- 
ceptions of the right, he lost one attribute of the true hero 
-—faith. We do not mean that word in the religious sense 
alone, but in the more comprehensive. He did not rely on 
the Celestial Something pervading all nature, never seen, 
only felt when duly courted, stronger and lovelier than 
what eye could behold and mere reason could embrace. 
Believing, it is true, in God, he lost those fine links that 
unite God to man’s secret heart, and which are woven alike 
from the simplicity of the child and the wisdom of the poet. 
To use a modern illustration, his large mind was a ^ cupola 
lighted from below.’ 

His bravery, though inflexible as the fiercest sea-king’s, 
when need arose for its exercise, was not his prominent 
characteristic. He despised the brute valour of Tostig — his 
bravery was a necessary part of a firm and balanced manhood 
— the bravery of Hector, not Achilles. Constitutionally 
averse to bloodshed, he could seem timid where daring only 
gratified a wanton vanity, or aimed at a selfish object. On 
the other hand, if duty demanded daring, no danger could 


HAROLD 


91 


deter, no policy warp him ; — he could seem rash ; he could 
even seem merciless. In the what ought to be, he under- 
stood a must be. 

And it was natural to this peculiar, yet thoroughly English 
temperament, to he, in action, rather steadfast and patient 
than quick and ready. Placed in perils familiar to him, 
nothing could exceed his vigour and address ; but if taken 
unawares, and before his judgment could come to his aid, 
he was liable to be surprised into error. Large minds are 
rarely quick, unless they have been corrupted into unnatural 
vigilance by the necessity of suspicion. But a nature more 
thoroughly unsuspecting, more frank, trustful, and genuinely 
loyal than that young Earl’s, it was impossible to conceive. 
All these attributes considered, w e have the key to much of 
Harold’s character and conduct in the later events of his 
fated and tragic life. 

But with this temperament, so manly and simple, we are 
not to suppose that Harold, while rejecting the superstitions 
of one class, was so far beyond his time as to reject those of 
another. No son of fortune, no man placing himself and 
the world in antagonism, can ever escape from some belief 
in the Invisible. Caesar could ridicule and profane the 
mystic rites of Roman mythology, but he must still believe 
ill his fortune as in a god. And Harold, in his very studies, 
seeing the freest and boldest minds of antiquity subjected to 
influences akin to those of his Saxon forefathers, felt less 
shame in yielding to them, vain as they might be, than in 
monkish impostures so easily detected. Though hitherto he 
had rejected all direct appeal to the magic devices of Hilda, 
the sound of her dark sayings, heard in childhood, still 
vibrated on his soul as man. Belief in omens, in days lucky 
or unlucky, in the stars, was universal in every class of the 
Saxon. Harold had his own fortunate day, the day of his 
nativity, the 14th of October. All enterprises undertaken 
on that day had hitherto been successful. He believed in 
the virtue of that day, as Cromwell believed in his 3rd of 
September. For the rest, we have described him as he was 
in that part of his career in which he is now presented. 
Whether altered by fate and circumstances, time will show. 
As yet, no selflsh ambition leagued with the natural desire 
of youth and intellect for their fair share of fame and power. 
His patriotism, fed by the example of Greek and Roman 
worthies, was genuine, pure, and ardent ; he could have 
stood in the pass with Leonidas, or leaped into the gulf with 
Curtius. 


92 


HAROLD 


CHAPTER II 

At dawn, Harold woke from uneasy and broken slumbers, 
and his eyes fell upon the face of Hilda, large, and fair, and 
unutterably calm, as the face of Egyptian sphinx. 

^Have thy dreams been prophetic, son of Godwin.^* said 
the Vala. 

‘ Our Lord forfend,’ replied the Earl, with unusual devout- 
ness. 

^ Tell them, and let me read the rede ; sense dwells in the 
voices of the night.’ 

Harold mused, and after a short pause, he said — 

^ Methinks, Hilda, I can myself explain how those dreams 
came to haunt me.’ 

Then raising himself on his elbow, he continued, while he 
fixed his clear penetrating eyes upon his hostess — 

^ Tell me frankly, Hilda, didst thou not cause some light 
to shine on yonder knoll, by the mound and stone, within 
the temple of the Druids ? ’ 

But if Harold had suspected himself to be the dupe of 
some imposture, the thought vanished when he saw the look 
of keen interest, even of awe, which Hilda’s face instantly 
assumed. 

^ Didst thou see a light, son of Godwin, by the altar of 
Thor, and over the bautastein of the mighty dead ? a flame, 
lambent and livid, like moonbeams collected over snow ? ’ 

^So seemed to me the light.’ 

‘No human hand ever kindled that flame, which an- 
nounces the presence of the Dead,’ said Hilda, with a 
tremulous voice ; ‘ though seldom, uncompelled by the seid 
and the rune, does the spectre itself warn the eyes of the 
living.’ 

‘ What shape, or what shadow of shape, does that spectre 
assume ? ’ 

^ It rises in the midst of the flame, pale as the mist on the 
mountain, and vast as the giants of old ; with the saex, and 
the spear, and the shield, of the sons of W oden. — Thou hast 
seen the Scin-laeca,’ continued Hilda, looking full on the 
face of the Earl. 

^If thou deceivest me not,’ began Harold, doubting still. 

‘ Deceive thee ! not to save the crown of the Saxon dare I 
mock the might of the dead. Knowest thou not — or hath 
thy vain lore stood in place of the lore of thy fathers — that 
where a hero of old is buried, his treasures lie in his grave ; 
that over that grave is at times seen at night the flame that 
thou sawest, and the dead in his image of air ? Oft seen in 


HAROLD 


93 


the days that are gone, when the dead and the living had 
one faith — were one race ; now never marked, but for por- 
tent, and prophecy, and doom : — glory or woe to the eyes 
that see ! On yon knoll, ^sc (the first-born of Cerdic, that 
Father-King of the Saxons) has his grave where the mound 
rises green, and the stone gleams wan, by the altar of Thor. 
He smote the Britons in their temple, and he fell smiting. 
They buried him in his arms, and with the treasures his 
right hand had won. Fate hangs on the house of Cerdic, or 
the realm of the Saxon, when Woden calls the lajca of his 
son from the grave.’ 

Hilda, much troubled, bent her face over her clasped 
hands, and, rocking to and fro, muttered some runes unin- 
telligible to the ear of her listener. Then she turned to 
him commandingly, and said — 

‘Thy dreams now, indeed, are oracles, more true than 
living Vala could charm with the wand and the rune. Unfold 
them.’ 

Thus adjured, Harold resumed — 

‘ Methought, then, that I was on a broad, level plain, in 
the noon of day ; all was clear to my eye, and glad to my 
heart. I Mas alone, and went on my way rejoicing. Sud- 
denly the earth opened under my feet, and I fell deep, 
fathom-deep ; — deep, as if to that central pit, which our 
heathen sires called Niffelheim — the Home of Vapour — the 
hell of the dead who die without glory. Stunned by the 
fall, I lay long, locked as in a dream in the midst of a dream. 
^Vhen I opened my eyes, behold, I was girt round with dead 
men’s bones ; and the bones moved round me, undulating, 
as the dry leaves that wirble round in the winds of the 
winter. And from the midst of them peered a trunkless 
skull, and on the skull was a mitre, and from the yawning 
jaws a voice came hissing, as a serpent’s hiss, “ Harold, the 
scorner, thou art ours ! ” Then, as from the buzz of an army, 
came voices multitudinous, “Thou art ours !” I sought to 
rise, and behold, my limbs were bound, and the gyves were 
fine and frail, as the web of the gossamer, and they M eighed 
on me like chains of iron. And I felt an anguish of soul 
that no words can speak— an anguish both of horror and 
shame ; and my manhood seemed to ooze from me, and I 
was weak as a child new-born. Then suddenly there rushed 
forth a freezing wind, as from an air of ice, and the bones 
from their whirl stood still, and the buzz ceased, and the 
mitred skull grinned on me still and voiceless ; and serpents 
darted their arrowy tongues from the eyeless sockets. And, 
lo, before me stood (O Hilda, I see it now !) the form of the 
spectre that had risen from yonder knoll. With his spear, 


94 


HAROLD 


and saexj and his shield, he stood before me ; and his face, 
though pale as that of one long dead, was stern as the face 
of a warrior in the van of armed men ; he stretched his 
hand, and he smote his saex on his shield, and the clang 
sounded hollow ; the gyves broke at the clash — I sprang to 
my feet, and I stood side by side with the phantom, dauntless. 
Then, suddenly, the mitre on the skull changed to a helm ; 
and where the skull had grinned, trunkless and harmless, 
stood a shape like War, made incarnate ; — a Thing above 
giants, with its crest to the stars and its form an eclipse 
between the sun and the day. The earth changed to ocean, 
and the ocean was blood, and the ocean seemed deep as the 
seas where the whales sport in the North, but the surge rose 
not to the knee of that measureless image. And the ravens 
came round it from all parts of the heaven, and the vultures 
with dead eyes and dull scream. And all the bones, before 
scattered and shapeless, sprung to life and to form, some 
monks, and some warriors ; and there was a hoot and a hiss, 
and a roar, and the storm of arms. And a broad pennon 
rose out of the sea of blood, and from the clouds came a pale 
hand, and it wrote on the pennon, Harold, the Accursed ! ” 
Then said the stern shape by^my side, Harold, fearest thou 
the dead men’s bones and its voice was as a trumpet that 
gives strength to the craven, and I answered, Nidderiiig, 
indeed, were Harold, to fear the bones of the dead ! ” 

^ As I spoke, as if hell had burst loose, came a gibber of 
scorn, and all vanished at once, save the ocean of blood. 
Slowly came from the north, over the sea, a bird like a raven, 
save that it was blood-red, like the ocean ; and there came 
from the south, swimming towards me, a lion. And I looked 
to the spectre ; and the pride of war had gone from its face, 
which was so sad that methought I forgot raven and lion, 
and wept to see it. Then the spectre took me in its vast 
arms, and its breath froze my veins, and it kissed my brow 
and my lips, and said, gently and fondly, as my mother in 
some childish sickness, Harold, my best beloved, mourn 
not. Tliou hast all which the sons of Woden dreamed in 
their dreams of Valhalla ! ” llius saying, the form receded 
slowly, slowly, still gazing on me with its sad eyes. I 
stretched forth my hand to detain it, and in my grasp was a 
shadowy sceptre. And, lo ! round me, as if from the earth, 
sprang up thegns and chiefs, in their armour ; and a board 
was spread, and a wassail was blithe around me. So my 
heart felt cheered and light, and in my hand was still the 
sceptre. And we feasted long and merrily; but over the 
feast flapped the wings of the blood-red raven, and over the 
blood-red sea beyond, swam the lion, near and near. And 


HAROLD 


0.5 


in the heavens there were two stars, one pale and steadfast, 
the other rushing and luminous ; and a shadowy hand 
pointed from the cloud to the pale star, and a voice said, 

Lo, Harold ! the star that shone on thy birth.” And 
another hand pointed to the luminous star, and another 
voice said, ^^Lo, the star that shone on the birth of the 
victor.” Then, lo ! the bright star grew fiercer and larger ; 
and, rolling on with a hissing sound, as when iron is dipped 
into water, it rushed over the disk of the mournful planet, 
and the whole heavens seemed on fire. So methought the 
dream faded away, and in fading, I heard a full swell of 
music, as the swell of an anthem in an aisle ; a music like 
that which but once in my life 1 heard ; when I stood in the 
train of Edward, in the halls of Winchester, the day they 
crowned him king.* 

Harold ceased, and the Vala slowly lifted her head from 
her bosom, and surveyed him in profound silence, and with 
a gaze that seemed vacant and meaningless. 

^ Why dost thou look on me thus, and why art thou so 
silent ’ asked the Earl. 

‘ The cloud is on my sight, and the burthen is on my soul, 
and I cannot read thy rede,’ murmured the Vala. ^But 
morn, the ghost-chaser, that waketh life, the action, charms 
into slumber life, the thought. As the stars pale at the 
rising of the sun, so fade the lights of the soul when the 
buds revive in the dews, and the lark sings to the day. In 
thy dream lies thy future, as the wing of the moth in the 
web of the changing worm ; but, whether for weal or for 
woe, thou shalt burst through thy mesh, and spread thy 
plumes in the air. Of myself I know nought. Await the 
hour when Skulda shall pass into the soul of her servant, and 
thy fate shall rush from my lips as the rush of the waters 
from the heart of the cave.’ 

^ I am content to abide,’ said Harold, with liis wonted 
smile, so calm and so lofty ; ^ but I cannot promise thee that 
I shall heed thy rede, or obey thy warning, when my reason 
hath awoke, as while I speak it awakens, from the fumes of 
the fancy and the mists of the night.’ 

The Vala sighed heavily, but made no answer. 


CHAPTER III 

Githa, Earl Godwin’s wife, sate in her chamber, and her 
heart was sad. In the room was one of her sons, the one 
dearer to her than all, Wolnoth, her darling. For the rest 


90 


HAROLD 


of her sous were stalwart and strong of franie^ and in their 
infancy she had known not a mother's fears. But Wolnoth 
had come into the world before his time, and sharp had 
been the travail of the mother, and long between life and 
death the struggle of the new-born babe. And his cradle 
had been rocked with a trembling knee, and his pillow 
been bathed with hot tears. Frail had been his childhood 
— a thing that hung on her care ; and now, as the boy grew, 
blooming and strong, into youth, the mother felt that she 
had given life twice to her child. Therefore was he more 
dear to her than the rest ; and, therefore, as she gazed upon 
him now, fair and smiling, and hopeful, she mourned for 
him more than for Sweyn, the outcast and criminal, on his 
pilgrimage of woe, to the waters of Jordan, and the tomb 
of our Lord. For VFolnoth, selected as the hostage for the 
faith of his house, was to be sent from her arms to the 
Court of William the Norman. And the youth smiled and 
was gay, clioosing vestment and mantle, and ateghars of 
gold, that he might be flaunting and brave in the halls of 
knighthood and beauty — the school of the proudest chivalry 
of the Christian w'orld. Too young and too thoughtless to 
share the wise hate of his elders for the manners and form's 
of the foreigners, their gaiety and splendour, as his boyhood 
had seen them relieving the gloom of the cloister court 
and contrasting the spleen and the rudeness of the Saxon 
temperament, had dazzled his fancy and half Normanised 
his mind. A proud and happy boy was he, to go as hostage 
for the faith, and representative of the rank, of his mighty 
kinsmen ; and step into manhood in the eyes of the dames 
of Rouen. 

By Wolnoth’s side stood his young sister, Thyra, a mere 
infant ; and her innocent sympathy with her brother’s plea- 
sure in gaud and toy saddened Githa yet more. 

' O my son ! ’ said the troubled mother, ' why of all my 
children have they chosen thee Harold is wise against 
danger, and Tostig is fierce against foes, and Gurth is too 
loving to wake hate in the sternest, and from the mirth of 
sunny Leofwine sorrow glints aside, as the shaft from the 
sheen of a shield. But thou, thou, O beloved ! — cursed be 
the king that chose thee, and cruel was the father that 
forgot the light of the mother’s eyes ! ’ 

‘Tut, mother the dearest,’ said Wolnoth, pausing from 
the contemplation of a silk robe, all covered with broidered 
peacocks, which had been sent him as a gift from his sister 
the Queen, and wrought with her own fair hands; for a 
notable needle-woman, despite her sage lere, was the wife of 
the Saint-king, as sorrowful women mostly are, — ‘ Tut ! 


HAROLD 


97 

the bird must leave the nest when the wings are fledged. 
Harold the eagle, Tostig the kite, Gurth the ring-dove, and 
Leofwine the stare. See, my wings are the richest of all, 
mother, and bright is the sun in which thy peacock shall 
spread his pranked plumes.’ 

Then, observing that his liveliness provoked no smile 
from his mother, he approached, and said more seriously — 

^ Bethink thee, mother mine. No other choice was left 
to king or to father. Harold and Tostig and Leofwine, 
have their lordships and offices. Their posts are fixed, and 
they stand as the columns of our house. And Gurth is so 
young, and so Saxish, and so the shadow of Harold, that 
his hate to the Norman is a bye-word already among our 
youths ; for hate is the more marked in a temper of love, 
as the blue of this border seems black against the white of 
the woof. But 7; — the good king knows that I shall be 
welcome, for the Norman knights love Wolnoth, and I have 
spent hours by the knees of Montgommeri and Grantmesnil, 
listening to the feats of Rolfganger, and playing with their 
gold chains of knighthood. And the stout Count himself 
shall knight me, and I shall come back with the spurs of 
gold which thy ancestors, the brave kings of Norway and 
Daneland, wore ere knighthood was known. Come, kiss 
me, my mother, and come see the brave falcons Harold has 
sent me, — true Welch !’ 

Githa rested her face on her son’s shoulder, and her tears 
blinded her. The door opened gently, and Harold entered ; 
and with the Earl, a pale dark-haired boy, Haco, the son of 
Sweyn. 

But Githa, absorbed in her darling Wolnoth, scarce saw 
the grandchild reared afar from her knees, and hurried at 
once to Harold. In his presence she felt comfort and 
safety; for Wolnoth leant on her heart, and her heart leant 
on Harold. 

son, son ! ’ she cried, ^firmest of hand, surest of faith, 
and wisest of brain, in the house of Godwin, tell me that he 
yonder, he thy young brother, risks no danger in the halls 
of the Normans ! ’ 

^Not more than in these, mother,’ answered Harold, 
soothing her, with caressing lip and gentle tone. * Fierce 
and ruthless, men say, is William the Duke against foes 
with their swords in their hands, but debonair and mild to 
the gentle, frank host and kind lord. And these Normans 
have a code of their own, more grave than all morals, more 
binding than even their fanatic religion. Thou knowest it 
well, mother, for it comes from thy race of the North, and 
this code of honour, they call it, makes Wolnoth’s head as 


G 


98 


HAROLD 


sacred as the relics of a saint set in zimmes. Ask only, my 
brother, when thou comest in sight of the Norman Duke, 
ask only the kiss of peace,” and, that kiss on thy brow, 
thou wilt sleep more safely than if all the banners of Eng- 
land waved over thy couch. ’ 

^ But how long shall the exile be.^’ asked Githa, comforted. 

Harold’s brow fell. 

Mother, not even to cheer thee will I deceive. The 
time of the hostageship rests with the King and the Duke. 

As long as the one affects fear from the race of Godwin, 
as long as the other feigns care for such priests or such 
knights as were not banished from the realm, being not 
courtiers, but scattered wide and far in convent and home- 
stead, so long will Wolnoth and Haco be guests in the 
Norman Halls.’ 

Githa wrung her hands. 

^ But comfort, my mother ; Wolnoth is young, his eye is 
keen, and his spirit prompt and quick. He will mark these 
Norman captains, he will learn their strength and their 
weakness, their manner of war, and he will come back, not 
as Edward the King came, a lover of things un-Saxon, but 
able to warn and to guide us against the plots of the, camp- 
court, which threatens more, year by year, the peace of the 
world. And he will see there arts we may worthily borrow : 
not the cut of a tunic, and the fold of a gonna, but the arts 
of men who found states and build nations. William the 
Duke is splendid and wise ; merchants tell us how crafts 
thrive under his iron hand, and warmen say that his forts 
are constructed with skill and his battle-schemes planned as 
the mason plans key-stone and arch, with weight portioned 
out to the prop, and the force of the hand made tenfold by 
the science of the brain. So that the boy will return to us 
a man round and complete, a teacher of greybeards, and the 
sage of his kin ; fit for earldom and rule, fit for glory and 
England. Grieve not, daughter of the Dane kings, that thy 
son, the best loved, hath nobler school and wider field than 
his brothers.’ 

This appeal touched the proud heart of the niece of 
Canute the Great, and she almost forgot the grief of her 
love in the hope of her ambition. 

She dried her tears and smiled upon Wolnoth, and 
already, in the dreams of a mother’s vanity, saw him great 
as Godwin in council, and prosperous as Harold in the 
field. Nor, half Norman as he was, did the young man ^ 
seem insensible of the manly and elevated patriotism of his 
brother’s hinted lessons^ though he felt they implied reproof. 

He came to the Earl, whose arm was round his mother, and 


HAROLD 90 

said with a frank heartiness not usual to a nature somewhat 
frivolous and irresolute— 

^ Harold, thy tongue could kindle stones into men, and 
warm those men into Saxons. Thy Wolnoth shall not hang 
his head with shame when he comes back to our merrie 
land with shaven locks and spurs of gold. For if thou 
doubtest his race from his look, thou shalt put thy right 
hand on his heart, and feel England beat there in every 
pulse.’ 

^ Brave words, and well spoken,’ cried the Earl, and he 
placed his hand on the boy’s head as in benison. 

Till then, Haco had stood apart, conversing with the 
infant Thyra, whom his dark, mournful face awed and yet 
touched, for she nestled close to him, and put her little 
hand in his ; but now, inspired no less than his cousin 
by Harold’s noble speech, he came proudly forward by 
Wolnoth’s side, and said — 

^ I, too, am English, and I have the name of Englishman 
to redeem.’ 

Ere Harold could reply, Githa exclaimed — 

^ Leave there thy right hand on my child’s head, and 
say, simply — ^^By my troth and my plight, if the Duke 
detain Wolnoth, son of Githa, against just plea, and King’s 
assent to his return, I, Harold, will, failing letter and 
nuncius, cross the seas, to restore the child to the mother.”’ 

Harold hesitated. 

A sharp cry of reproach that w'ent to his heart broke from 
Githa’s lips. 

‘ Ah ! cold and self-heeding, wilt thou send him to bear 
a peril from which thou shrinkest thyself.^’ 

^ By my troth and my plight, then,’ said the Earl, ^ if, 
fair time elapsed, peace in England, without plea of justice, 
and against my king’s fiat, Duke William of Normandy 
detain the hostages — thy son and this dear boy, more 
sacred and more dear to me for his father’s woes, — I will 
cross the seas, to restore the child to the mother, the 
fatherless to his fatherland. So help me, all-seeing One, 
Amen and Amen ! ’ 


CHAPTER IV 

▼ We have seen, in an earlier part of this record, that Harold 
possessed, amongst his numerous and more stately posses- 
sions, a house, not far from the old Roman dwelling-place 
of Hilda. And in this residence he now (save when with 


100 


HAROLD 


the king) made his chief abode. He gave as the reasons for 
his selection, the charm it took, in his eyes, from that signal 
mark of affection which his ceorls had rendered him, in 
purchasing the house and tilling the ground in his absence ; 
and more especially the convenience of its vicinity to the 
new palace at Westminster ; for, by Edward’s special desire, 
while the other brothers repaired to their different domains, 
Harold remained near his royal person. To use the words 
of the great Norwegian chronicler, ^ Harold was always with 
the Court itself, and nearest to the king in all service.’ 
‘ The king loved him very much, and kept him as his own 
son, for he had no children. This attendance on Edward 
was naturally most close at the restoration to power of the 
Earl’s family. For Harold, mild and conciliating, was, like 
Aired, a great peacemaker, and Edward had never cause to 
complain of him, as he believed he had of the rest of that 
haughty house. But the true spell which made dear to 
Harold the rude building of timber, with its doors open all 
day to his lithsmen, when with a light heart he escaped 
from the halls of Westminster, was the fair face of Edith 
his neighbour. The impression which this young girl had 
made upon Harold seemed to partake of the stren^h of a 
fatality. For Harold had loved her before the marvellous 
beauty of her womanhood began ; and, occupied from his 
earliest youth in grave and earnest affairs, his heart had 
never been frittered away on the mean and frivolous affec- 
tions of the idle. Now, in that comparative leisure of his 
stormy life, he was naturally most open to the influence of 
a charm more potent than all the glamoury of Hilda. 

The autumn sun shone through the golden glades of the 
forest-land, when Edith sate alone on the knoll that faced 
forest-land and road, and watched afar. 

And the birds sung cheerily ; but that was not the sound 
for which Edith listened : and the squirrel darted from tree 
to tree on the sward beyond ; but not to see the games of 
the squirrel sate Edith by the grave of the Teuton. By- 
and-by, came the cry of the dogs, and the tall grehound 
of Wales emerged from the bosky dells. Tlien Edith’s 
heart heaved, and her eyes brightened. And now, with 
his hawk on his wrist, and his spear in his hand, came, 
through the yellowing boughs, Harold the Earl. 

And well may ye ween, that his heart heat as loud and 
his eye shone as bright as Edith’s, when he saw who had 
watched for his footsteps on the sepulchral knoll; Love, 
forgetful of the presence of Death ; — so has it ever been, 

1 Snorro Sturleson’s Heimskringla. — Laing’s Translation, pp. 


HAROLD 


101 


so ever shall it be ! He hastened his stride, and bounded up 
the gentle hillock, and his dogs, with a joyous bark, came 
round the knees of Edith. Then Harold shook the bird 
from his wrist, and it fell, with its light wing, on the altar- 
stone of Thor. 

^Thou art late, but thou art welcome, Harold my kins- 
man,’ said Edith, simply, as she bent her face over the 
hounds, whose gaunt heads she caressed. 

^ Call me not kinsman,’ said Harold, shrinking, and with 
a dark cloud on his broad brow. 

^ And why, Harold 

^ Oh, Edith, why ? ’ murmured Harold ; and his thought 
added, ^ she knows not, poor child, that in that mockery of 
kinship the Church sets its ban on our bridals.’ 

He turned, and chid his dogs fiercely as they gambolled 
in rough glee round their fair friend. 

The hounds crouched at the feet of Edith ; and Edith 
looked in mild wonder at the troubled face of the Earl . 

Thine eyes rebuke me, Edith, more than my words the 
hounds ! ’ said Harold, gently. ^ But there is quick blood 
in my veins : and the mind must be calm when it would 
control the humour. Calm was my mind, sweet Edith, in 
the old time, when thou wert an infant on my knee, and 
wreathing, with these rude hands, flower-chains for thy 
neck like the swan’s down, 1 said — The flowers fade, but 
the chain lasts when love weaves it.” ’ 

Edith again bent her face over the crouching hounds. 
Harold gazed on her with mournful fondness ; and the bird 
still sung, and the squirrel swung himself again from bough 
to bough. Edith spoke first — 

My godmother, thy sister, hath sent for me, Harold, 
and I am to go to the court to-morrow. Shalt thou be 
there ? ’ 

^Surely,’ said Harold, in an anxious voice, ^surely, I 
will be there ! So my sister hath sent for thee : wittest 
thou wherefore ? ’ 

Edith grew very pale, and her tone trembled as she 
answered — 

‘ Well-a-day, yes.’ 

^ It is as I feared, then ! ’ exclaimed Harold, in great 
agitation ; ^ and my sister, whom these monks have de- 
mented, leagues herself with the King against the law of 
the wide welkin and the grand religion of the human heart. 
Oh ! ’ continued the Earl, kindling into an enthusiasm, rare 
to his even moods, but wrung as much from his broad sense 
as from his strong affection, ^when I compare the Saxon 
of our land and day, all enervated and decrepit by priestly 


102 


HAROLD 


superstition, with his forefathers in the first Christian era, 
yielding to the religion they adopted in its simple truths, 
but not to that rot of social happiness and free manhood 
which this cold and lifeless monachism — making virtue the 
absence of human ties — spreads around — which the great 
Bede, though himself a monk, vainly but bitterly de- 
nounced ; — yea, verily, when I see the Saxon already the 
theowe of the priest, 1 shudder to ask how long he will be 
folk-free of the tyrant.’ 

He paused, breathed hard, and seizing almost sternly, 
the girl’s trembling arm, he resumed between his set teeth, 
— ^ So they would have thee be a nun } — Thou wilt not — 
thou durst not, — thy heart would perjure thy vows ! ’ 

^Ah, Harold !’ answered Edith, moved out of all bash- 
fulness by his emotion and her own terror of the convent, 
and answering, if with the love of a woman, still with all the 
unconsciousness of a child : ^ Better, oh better the grate of 
the body than that of the heart ! — In the grave I could still 
live for those I love ; behind the Grate, love itself must be 
dead. Yes, thou pitiest me, Harold ; thy sister, the Queen, 
is gentle and kind ; I will fling myself at her feet, and say 
— Youth is fond, and the world is fair: let me live my 
youth, and bless God in the world that he saw was good ! ” ’ 

^My own, own dear Edith !’ exclaimed Harold, over- 
joyed. 'Say this. Be firm; they cannot, and they dare 
not force thee ! The law cannot wrench thee against thy 
will from the ward of thy guardian Hilda ; and, where the 
law is, there Harold at least is strong — and there at least 
our kinship, if my bane, is thy blessing.’ 

'Why, Harold, sayest thou that our kinship is thy bane.^ 
It is so sweet to me to whisper to myself, " Harold is of thy 
kith, though distant ; and it is natural to thee to have pride 
in his fame, and joy in his presence ! ” Why is that sweet- 
ness to me, to thee so bitter ? ’ 

' Because,’ answered Harold, dropping the hand he had 
clasped, and folding his arms in deep dejection, 'because 
but for that I should say — " Edith, I love thee more than a 
brother : Edith, be Harold’s wife ! ” And were I to say it, 
and were we to wed, all the priests of the Saxons would lift 
up their hands in horror, and curse our nuptials, and I 
should be the bann’d of that spectre the Church ; and my 
house would shake to its foundations ; and my father, and 
my brothers, and the thegns and the proceres, and the 
abbots and prelates, whose aid makes our force, would 
gather round me with threats and with prayers, that 1 
might put thee aside. And mighty as I am now, so mighty 
once was Sweyn my brother ; and outlaw as Sweyn is now. 


HAROLD 


103 


might Harold be, and outlaw if Harold were, what breast 
so broad as his could fill up the gap left in the defence of 
England ? And the passions that I curb, as a rider his 
steed, might break their rein ; and, strong in justice, and 
child of Nature, I might come, with banner and mail, 
against Church, and House, and Fatherland ; and the blood 
of my countrymen might be poured like water : and, there- 
fore, slave to the lying thraldom he despises, Harold dares 
not say to the maid of his love — Give me thy right hand, 
and be my bride ! ” * 

Edith had listened in bewilderment and despair, her eyes 
fixed on his, and her face locked and rigid, as if turned to 
stone. But when he had ceased, and, moving some steps 
away, turned aside his manly countenance, that Edith, might 
not perceive its anguish, the noble and sublime spirit of 
that sex which ever, when lowliest, most comprehends the 
lofty, rose superior both to love and to grief ; and rising, 
she advanced, and placing her slight hand on his stalwart 
shoulder, she said, half in pity half in reverence — 

^ Never before, O Harold, did I feel so proud of thee : 
for Edith could not love thee as she doth, and will till the 
grave clasp her, if thou didst not love England more than 
Edith. Harold, till this hour I was a child, and I knew 
not my own heart ; I look now into that heart, and I see 
that I am woman. Harold, of the cloister I have now no 
fear : and all life does not shrink — no, it enlarges, and it 
soars into one desire — to be worthy to pray for thee !’ 

^ Maid, maid ! ’ exclaimed Harold, abruptly and pale as 
the dead, ^ do not say thou hast no fear of the cloister. I 
adjure, I command thee, build not up between us that 
dismal everlasting wall. While thou art free, Hope yet 
survives — a phantom, haply, but Hope still. ^ 

‘ As thou wilt, I will," said Edith, humbly : ^ order my 
fate so as pleases thee the best.’ 

Then, not daring to trust herself longer, for she felt the 
tears rushing to her eyes, she turned away hastily, and left 
him alone beside the altar-stone and the tomb. 


CHAPTER V 

The next day, as Harold was entering the palace of West- 
minster, with intent to seek the King’s lady, his father met 
him in one of the corridors, and, taking him gravely by the 
hand, said — 


104 


HAROLD 


^ My son, I have much on my mind regarding thee and 
our House ; come with me. * 

^Nay/ said the Earl, ^ by your leave let it be later. For 
I have it on hand to see my sister, ere confessor or monk, or 
schoolman, claim her hours ! * 

^ Not so, Harold,’ said the Earl, briefly. ^ My daughter is 
now in her oratory, and we shall have time enow to treat of 
things mundane ere she is free to receive thee, and to preach 
to thee of things ghostly, the last miracle at St. Alban’s, or 
the last dream of the king, who would be a great man and a 
stirring, if as restless when awake as he is in his sleep. 
Come.’ 

Harold, in that filial obedience which belonged, as of 
course, to his antique cast of character, made no further 
effort to escape, but with a sigh followed Godwin into one 
of the contiguous chambers. 

^ Harold,’ then said Earl Godwin, after closing the door 
carefully, ^ thou must not let the King keep thee longer in 
dalliance and idleness : thine earldom needs thee without 
delay. Thou knowest that these East Angles, as we Saxons 
still call them, are in truth mostly Danes and Norsemen ; 
a people jealous and fierce, and free, and more akin to 
the Normans than to the Saxons. My whole power in 
England hath been founded, not less on my common birth 
with the freefolk of Wessex — Saxons like myself, and there- 
fore easy for me, a Saxon, to conciliate and control — than 
on the hold I have ever sought to establish, whether by 
arms or by arts, over the Danes in the realm. And 1 tell 
and I warn thee, Harold, as the natural heir of my great- 
ness, that he who cannot command the stout hearts of the 
Anglo-Danes, will never maintain the race of Godwin in the 
post they have won in the vanguard of Saxon England.’ 

^This I wot well, my father,’ answered Harold; ^and 
I see with joy, that while those descendants of heroes and 
freemen are blended indissolubly with the meeker Saxon, 
their freer laws and hardier manners are gradually sup- 
planting, or rather regenerating, our own.’ 

Godwin smiled approvingly on his son, and then his 
brow becoming serious, and the dark pupil of his blue eye 
dilating, he resumed — 

^ This is well, my son ; and hast thou thought also, that 
while thou art loitering in these galleries, amidst the ghosts 
of men in monk cowls, Siward is shadowing our House 
with his glory, and all north the Humber rings with his 
name Hast thou thought that all Mercia is in the hands 
of Leofric our rival, and that Algar his son, who ruled 
Wessex in my absence, left there a name so beloved, that 


\ 


HAROLD 


105 


had I stayed a year longer, the cry had been ^^Algar,”not 

Godwin”? — for so is the multitude ever ! Now aid me, 
Harold, for my soul is troubled, and I cannot work alone ; 
and though I say naught to others, my heart received a 
death-blow when tears fell from its blood-springs on the 
brow of Sweyn, my first-born.’ The old man paused, and 
his lip quivered. 

^Thou, thou alone, Harold, noble boy, thou alone didst 
stand by his side in the hall ; alone, alone, and I blessed 
thee in that hour over all the rest of my sons. W ell, well ! 
now to earth again. Aid me, Harold. I open to thee my 
web : complete the woof when this hand is cold. The new 
tree that stands alone in the plain is soon nipped by the 
winter : fenced round with the forest, its youth takes shelter 
from its fellows. So is it with a house newly founded ; it 
must win strength from the allies that it sets round its 
slender stem. What had been Godwin, son of Wolnoth, 
had he not married into the kingly house of great Canute ? 
It is this that gives my sons now the right to the loyal love 
of the Danes. The throne passed from Canute and his race, 
and the Saxons again had their hour ; and I gave, as J ephtha 
gave his daughter, my blooming Edith, to the cold bed of the 
Saxon King. Had sons sprung from that union, the grand- 
son of Godwin, royal alike from Saxon and Dane, would 
reign on the throne of the isle. Fate ordered otherwise, 
and the spider must weave web anew. Thy brother Tostig 
has added more splendour than solid strength to our line, 
in his marriage with the daughter of Baldwin the Count. 
The foreigner helps us little in England. Thou, O Harold, 
must bring new props to the House. I would rather see 
thee wed to the child of one of our great rivals than to 
the daughter of kaisar, or outland king. Siward hath no 
daughter undisposed of. Algar, son of Leofric, hath a 
daughter fair as the fairest ; make her thy bride, that 
Algar may cease to be a foe. This alliance will render 
Mercia, in truth, subject to our principalities, since the 
stronger must quell the weaker. It doth more. Algar 
himself has married into the royalty of Wales. Thou wilt 
win all those fierce tribes to thy side. Their forces will 
gain thee the marches, now held so feebly under Rolf the 
Norman, and in case of brief reverse, or sharp danger, 
their mountains will give refuge from all foes. This day, 
greeting Algar, he told me he meditated bestowing his 
daughter on GryfFyth, the rebel under-King of North Wales. 
Therefore,’ continued the old Earl, with a smile, Hhou 
must speak in time, and win and woo in the same breath. 
No hard task, methiiiks, for Harold of the golden tongue.’ 


106 


HAROLD 


Sir, aud father,' replied the youug Earl, whom the long 
speech addressed to him had prepared for its close, and 
whose habitual self-control saved him from disclosing his 
emotion, ^ I thank you duteously, for your care for my 
future, and hope to profit by your wisdom. 1 will ask the 
King’s leave to go to my East Anglians, and hold there 
a folkmuth, administer justice, redress grievances, and 
make thegn and ceorl content with Harold, their Earl. But 
vain is peace in the realm, if there is strife in the house. 
And Aldyth, the daughter of Algar, cannot be house-wife 
to me.’ 

^Why.^’ asked the old Earl, calmly, aud surveying his 
son’s face, with those eyes so clear yet so unfathomable. 

‘ Because, though I grant her fair, she pleases not my 
fancy, nor would give warmth to my hearth. Because, as 
thou knowest well, Algar and I have ever been opposed, 
both in camp and in council ; and I am not the man who 
can sell my love, though 1 may stifle my anger. Earl 
Harold needs no bride to bring spearmen to his back at his 
need ; and his lordships he will guard wdth the shield of a 
man, not the spindle of a woman.’ 

^Said in spite and in error,’ replied the old Earl, coolly. 
^ Small pain had it given thee to forgive Algar old quarrels, 
and clasp his hand as a father-in-law — if thou hadst had for 
his daughter what the great are forbidden to regard save 
as a folly.’ 

* Is love a folly, my father } ’ 

' Surely, yes,’ said the Earl, with some sadness — ^ surely, 
yes, for those who know that life is made up of business and 
care, spun out in long years, not counted by the joys of an 
hour. Surely, yes ; thinkest thou that I loved my first wife, 
the proud sister of Canute, or that Edith, thy sister, loved 
Edward, when he placed the crown on her head } ’ 

^ My father, in Edith, my sister, our House has sacrificed 
enow to selfish power.’ 

*^1 grant it, to selfish power,’ answered the eloquent old 
man, ^but not enow for England’s safety. Look to it, 
Harold ; thy years, and thy fame, and thy state, place 
thee free from my control as a father, but not till thou 
sleepest in thy cerements art thou free from that father — 
thy land ! Ponder it in thine own wise mind — wiser 
already than that which speaks to it under the hood of 
grey hairs. Ponder it, and ask thyself if thy power, when 
I am dead, is not necessary to the weal of England.^ and 
if aught that thy schemes can suggest would so strengthen 
that pow'er, as to find in the heart of the kingdom a host 
of friends like the Mercians ; — or if there could be a trouble 


HAROLD 


107 


pid a bar to thy greatness, a wall in thy path, or a thorn 
in thy side, like the hate or the jealousy of Algar, the son 
of Leofric ? ’ 

ITius addressed, Harold’s face, before serene and calm, 
grew overcast ; and he felt the force of his father’s words 
when appealing to his reason — not to his affections. The 
old man saw the advantage he had gained, and prudently 
forbore to press it. Rising, he drew round him his 
sweeping gonna lined with furs, and only when he reached 
the door, lie added — 

^The old see afar ; they stand on the height of ex- 
perience, as a warder on a crown of a tower ; and I tell 
thee, Harold, that if thou let slip this golden occasion, 
years hence — long and many — thou wilt rue the loss of the 
hour. And that, unless Mercia, as the centre of the king- 
dom, be reconciled to thy power, thou wilt stand high 
indeed — but on the shelf of a precipice. And if, as I sus- 
pect, thou lovest some other, who now clouds thy percep- 
tion, and will then check thy ambition, thou wilt break her 
heart with thy desertion, or gnaw thine own with regret. 
For love dies in possession — ambition has no fruition, and 
so lives for ever.’ 

^ That ambition is not mine, my father,’ exclaimed 
Harold, earnestly ; ^ I have not thy love of power, glorious 
in thee, even in its extremes. I have not thy ’ 

^ Seventy years ! ’ interrupted the old man, concluding 
the sentence. ^At seventy all men who have been great 
will speak as I do ; yet all will have known love. ’jHiou 
not ambitious, Harold.^ Thou knowest not thyself, nor 
knowest thou yet what ambition is. That which I see far 
before me as thy natural prize, I dare not, or I will not say. 
When time sets that prize within reach of thy spear’s point, 
say then, I am not ambitious ! ” Ponder and decide. ' 

And Harold pondered long, and decided not as Godwin 
could have wished. For he had not the seventy years of 
his father, and the prize lay yet in the womb of the moun- 
tains ; though the dwarf and the gnome were already 
fashioning the ore to the shape of a crown. 


CHAPTER VI 

W HiLE Harold mused over his father’s words, Edith, seated 
on a low stool beside the Lady of England, listened with 
earnest but mournful reverence to her royal namesake. 

The Queen’s closet opened like the King’s on one hand 


108 


HAROLD 


to an oratory, on the other to a spacious ante-room ; the 
lower part of the walls was covered with arras, leaving 
space for a niche that contained an image of the Virgin. 
Near the doorway to the oratory, was the stoupe or asper- 
sorium for holy-water ; and in various cysts and crypts, in 
either room, were caskets containing the relics of saints. 
The purple light from the stained glass of a high narrow 
window, shaped in the Saxon arch, streamed rich and full 
over the Queen’s bended head like a glory, and tinged her 
pale cheek, as with a maiden blush ; and she might have 
furnished a sweet model for early artist, in his dreams of 
St. Mary the Mother, not when, young and blest, she held 
the divine Infant in her arms, but when sorrow had reached 
even the immaculate bosom, and the stone had been rolled 
over the Holy Sepulchre. For beautiful the face still was, 
and mild beyond all words ; but, beyond all words also, sad 
in its tender resignation. 

And thus said the Queen to her godchild : 

^Why dost thou hesitate and turn away.^ Thinkest 
thou, poor child, in thine ignorance of life, that the world 
ever can give thee a bliss greater than the calm of the 
cloister.^ Pause, and ask thyself, young as thou art, if all 
the true happiness thou hast known is not bounded to 
hope. As long as thou hopest, thou art happy.’ 

Edith sighed deeply, and moved her young head in in- 
voluntary acquiescence. 

‘^And what is life to the nun, but hope.^ In that hope, 
she knows not the present, she lives in the future ; she 
hears ever singing the chorus of the angels, as St. Dunstan 
heard them sing at the birth of Edgar. That hope un- 
folds to her the heiligthum of the future. On earth her 
body, in heaven her soul ! ’ 

^ And her heart, O Lady of England ? ’ cried Edith, with 
a sharp pang. 

The Queen paused a moment, and laid her pale hand 
kindly on Edith’s bosom. 

^Not beating, child, as thine does now, with vain 
thoughts, and worldly desires ; but calm, calm as mine. 
It is in our power,’ resumed the Queen, after a second 
pause, Mt is in our power to make the life within us all 
soul ; so that the heart is not, or is felt not ; so that grief 
and joy have no power over us : so that we look tranquil 
on the stormy earth, as yon image of the Virgin, whom we 
make our example, looks from the silent niche. Listen, 
my godchild and darling. 

^I have known human state, and human debasement. 
In these halls I woke Lady of England, and, ere sunset, my 


HAROLD 


109 


lord banished me, without one mark of honour, without 
one word of comfort, to the convent of Wherwell ; — my 
father, my mother, my kin, all in exile ; and my tears 
falling fast for them, but not on a husband’s bosom.’ 

'Ah then, noble Edith,’ said the girl, colouring with 
anger at the remembered wrong for her Queen, 'ah then, 
surely at least, thy heart made itself heard ? ’ 

' Heard, yea verily,’ said the Queen, looking up, and 
pressing her hands ; ' heard, but the soul rebuked it. 
And the soul said, " Blessed are they that mourn ” ; and I 
rejoiced at the new trial which brought me nearer to Him 
who chastens those He loves.’ 

' But thy banished kin — the valiant, the wise ; they who 
placed thy lord on the throne ? ’ 

'Was it no comfort,’ answered the Queen, simply, 'to 
think that in the H ^ ^ 



be more accepted 


child, I have known the world’s honour, and the world’s 
disgrace, and I have schooled my heart to be calm in 


both.’ 


'Ah, thou art above human strength. Queen and Saint,’ 
exclaimed Edith ; ' and I have heard it said of thee, that 
as thou art now, thou wert from thine earliest years ; ever 
the sweet, the calm, the holy — ever less on earth than in 
heaven.’ 

Something there was in the Queen’s eyes, as she raised 
them towards Edith at this burst of enthusiasm, that gave 
for a moment, to a face otherwise so dissimilar, the likeness 
to her father ; something, in that large pupil, of the im- 
penetrable unrevealing depth of a nature close and secret 
in self-control. And a more acute observer than Edith 
might long have been perplexed and haunted with that 
look, wondering, if indeed, under the divine and spiritual 
composure, lurked the mystery of human passion. 

'My child,’ said the Queen, with the faintest smile 
upon her lips, and drawing Edith towards her, 'there are 
moments when all that breathe the breath of life feel, or 
have felt, alike. In my vain youth, I read, I mused, I 
pondered, but over worldly lore. And what men called the 
sanctity of virtue, was perhaps but the silence of thought. 
Now I have put aside those early and childish dreams and 
shadows, remembering them not, save (here the smile grew 
more pronounced), to puzzle some poor schoolboy with the 
knots and riddles of the sharp grammarian. But not to 
speak of myself have I sent for thee. Edith, again and 
again, solemnly and sincerely, I pray thee to obey the wish 
of my lord the King. And now, while yet in all the bloom 


110 


HAROLD 


of thought, as of youth, while thou hast no memory save 
the child’s, enter on the Realm of Peace.’ 

cannot, I dare not, I cannot — ah, ask me not,’ said 
poor Edith, covering her face with her hands. 

Those hands the Queen gently withdrew ; and looking 
steadfastly in the changeful and half-averted face, she said, 
mournfully, ^Is it so, my godchild.^ and is thy heart set 
on the hopes of earth — thy dreams on the love of man } ’ 

^Nay,’ answered Edith, equivocating; ^but I have pro- 
mised not to take the veil.’ 

^ Promised to Hilda ’ 

^ Hilda,’ exclaimed Edith readily, ^ would never consent 
to it. Thou knowest her strong nature, her distaste to — 
to ’ 

^ The laws of our holy Church — I do ; and for that 
reason it is, mainly, that I join with the King in seeking to 
abstract^ thee from her influence. But it is not Hilda that 
thou hast promised ? ’ 

Edith hung her head. 

^ Is it to woman or to man } ’ 

Before Edith could answer, the door from the ante-room 
opened gently, but without the usual ceremony, and Harold 
entered. His quick quiet eye embraced both forms, and 
curbed Edith’s young impulse, which made her start from 
her seat, and advance joyously towards him as a protector. 

^ Fair day to thee, my sister,’ said the Earl, advancing ; 
^ and pardon, if I break thus rudely on thy leisure ; for 
few are the moments when beggar and Benedictine leave 
thee free to receive thy brother.’ 

^ Dost thou reproach me, Harold } ’ 

‘ No, Heaven forfend ! ’ replied the Earl, cordially, and 
with a look at once of pity and admiration ; ^ for thou art 
one of the few, in this court of simulators, sincere and true ; 
and it pleases thee to serve the Divine Power in thy way, 
as it pleases me to serve Him in mine.’ 

^ Thine, Harold.^’ said the Queen, shaking her head, 
but with a look of some human pride and fondness in her 
fair face. 

‘ Mine ; as I learned it from thee when I was thy pupil, 
Edith ; when to those studies in which thou didst precede 
me, thou first didst lure me from sport and pastime ; and 
from thee I learned to glow over the deeds of Greek and 
Roman, and say, “ They lived and died as men ; like them 
may I live and die ! ” ’ 

^ Oh, true — too true ! ’ said the Queen, with a sigh ; 
^and I am to blame grievously that I did so pervert to 
earth a mind that might otherwise have learned holier 


HAROLD 


111 


examples ; — nay, smile not with that haughty lip, my 
brother ; for believe me — yea, believe me — there is more 
true valour in the life of one patient martyr than in the 
victories of Caesar, or even the defeat of Brutus.’ 

^It may be so,’ replied the Earl, ^but out of the same 
oak we carve the spear and the cross ; and those not worthy 
to hold the one, may yet not guiltily wield the other. Each 
to his path of life — and mine is chosen.’ 'fhen, changing 
his voice, with some abruptness, he said, ^But what hast 
thou been saying to thy fair godchild, that her cheek is 
pale, and her eyelids seem so heavy? Edith, Edith, my 
sister, beware how thou shapest the lot of the martyr with- 
out the peace of the saint. Had Algive the nun been 
wedded to Sweyn our brother, Sweyn were not wending, 
bare-footed and forlorn, to lay the wrecks of desolated life 
at the Holy Tomb.’ 

^ Harold, Harold ! ’ faltered the Queen, much struck 
with his words. 

* But,’ the Earl continued — and something of the pathos 
which belongs to deep emotion vibrated in the eloquent 
voice, accustomed to command and persuade — ^we strip 
not the green leaves for our yule-hearths — we gather them 
up when dry and sere. Leave youth on the bough — let the 
bird sing to it — let it play free in the airs of heaven. Smoke 
comes from the branch which, cut in the sap, is cast upon 
the fire, and regret from the heart which is severed from the 
world while the world is in its May.’ 

The Queen paced slowly, but in evident agitation, to and 
fro the room, and her hands clasped convulsively the rosary 
round her neck ; then, after a pause of thought, she 
motioned to Edith, and, pointing to the oratory, said, with 
forced composure, ^ Enter there, and there kneel ; com- 
mune with thyself, and be still. Ask for a sign from above 
— pray for the grace within. Go ; 1 would speak alone 
with Harold.’ 

Edith crossed her arms on her bosom meekly, and passed 
into the oratory. The Queen watched her for a few 
moments, tenderly, as the slight, child-like form bent 
before the sacred symbol. Then she closed the door 
gently, and coming with a quick step to Harold, said, in 
a low but clear voice, ^ Dost thou love the maiden ? ’ 

^ Sister,’ answered the Earl, sadly, ^ I love her as a man 
should love woman — more than my life, but less than the 
ends life lives for.’ 

^ Oh, world, world, world ! ’ cried the Queen, passion- 
ately, ^not even to thine own objects art thou true. O 
M orld ! O world ! thou desirest happiness below, and at 


112 


HAROLD 


every turn, with every vanity, thou tramplest happiness 
under foot! Yes, yes; they said to me, ^^For the sake of 
our greatness, thou shalt wed King Edward.” And I live 

in the eyes that loath me — and — and ’ The Queen, as 

if conscience-stricken, paused aghast, kissed devoutly the 
relic suspended to her rosary, and continued, with such 
calmness that it seemed as if two women were blent in one, 
so startling was the contrast. ^And I have had my 
reward, but not from the world ! Even so, Harold the 
Earl, and Earl’s son, thou lovest yon fair child, and she, 
thee ; and ye might be happy, if happiness were earth’s 
end ; but, though high-born, and of fair temporal posses- 
sions, she brings thee not lands broad enough for her dowry, 
nor troops of kindred to swell thy lithsmen, and she is not 
a markstone in thy march to ambition ; and so thou lovest 
her as man loves woman — ^^less than the ends life lives 
for!”’ 

^Sister,’ said Harold, ^thou speakest as I love to hear 
thee speak — as my bright-eyed rose-lipped sister spoke in 
the days of old ; thou speakest as a woman with warm 
heart, and not as the mummy in the stiff cerements of 
priestly form ; and if thou art with me, and thou wilt give 
me countenance, I will marry thy godchild, and save her 
alike from the dire superstitions of Hilda, and the grave of 
the abhorrent convent.’ 

* But my father — my father ! ’ cried the Queen, ^ who 
ever bended that soul of steel } ’ 

^ It is not my father I fear ; it is thee and thy monks. 
Forgettest thou that Edith and I are within the six banned 
degrees of the church ? ’ 

^True, most true,’ said the Queen, with a look of great 
terror ; ^ I had forgotten. Avaunt, the very thought ! 
Pray— fast— banish it— my poor, poor brother!’ and she 
kissed his brow. 

^So, there fades the woman, and the mummy speaks 
again ! ’ said Harold, bitterly. ^ Be it so : I bow to my 
doom. Well, there may be a time when Nature on the 
throne of England shall prevail over Priestcraft; and, in 
guerdon, for all my services, I will then ask a king who hath 
blood in his veins to win me the Pope’s pardon and benison. 
Leave me that hope, my sister, and leave thy godchild on 
the shores of the living world.’ 

The Queen made no answer, and Harold, auguring ill 
from her silence, moved on and opened the door of the 
oratory. But the image that there met him, the figure 
still kneeling, those eyes, so earnest in the tears that 
streamed from them fast and unheeded, fixed on the holy 


HAROLD 


113 


rood— awed his step and checked liis voice. Not till the girl 
had risen, did he break silence ; then he said, gently, ^ My 

sister will press thee no more, Edith ’ 

^ I say not that ! ’ exclaimed the Queen. 

^ Or if she doth, remember thy plighted promise under 
the wide cope of blue heaven, the old nor least holy temple 
of our common Father.’ 

With these words he left the room. 


CHAPTER VII 

Harold passed into the Queen’s ante-chamber. Here the 
attendance was small and select compared with the crowds 
which we shall see presently in the ante-room to the King’s 
closet : for here came chiefly the more learned ecclesiastics, 
attracted instinctively by the Queen’s own mental culture, 
and few indeed were they in that day (perhaps the most 
illiterate known in England since the death of Alfred) ; 
and here came not the tribe of impostors, and the relic- 
venders, M^hom the infantine simplicity and lavish waste of 
the Confessor attracted. Some four or five priests and 
monks, some lonely widow, some orphan child, humble 
worth, or unprotected sorrow, made the noiseless levee of 
the sweet, sad Queen. 

The groups turned, with patient eyes, towards the Earl 
as he emerged from that chamber, which it was rare indeed 
to quit unconsoled, and marvelled at the flush in his cheek, 
and the disquiet on his brow ; but Harold was dear to the 
clients of his sister ; for, despite his supposed indifference 
to the mere priestly virtues (if virtues we call them) of the 
decrepit time, his intellect was respected by yon learned 
ecclesiastics ; and his character, as the foe of all injustice, 
and the fosterer of all that were desolate, was known to yon 
pale-eyed widow and yon trembling orphan. 

In the atmosphere of that quiet assembly, the Earl seemed 
to recover his kindly temperament, and he paused to address 
a friendly or a soothing word to each ; so that when he 
vanished, the hearts there felt more light ; and the silence, 
hushed before his entrance, was broken by many whispers 
in praise of the good Earl. 

Descending a staircase without the walls — as even in 
royal halls the principal staircases were then — Harold 
gained a wide court, in which loitered several house-carles 
and attendants, whether of the King or the visitors ; and, 

H 


114 


HAROLD 


reaching the entrance of the palace^ took his way towards 
the King’s rooms^ which lay near^ and rounds what is now 
called ^The Painted Chamber,’ then used as a bedroom by 
Edward on state occasions. 

And now he entered the ante-chamber of his royal 
brother-in-law. Crowded it was, but rather seemed it the 
hall of a convent than the ante-room of a king. Monks, 
pilgrims, priests, met his eye in every nook ; and not there 
did the Earl pause to practise the arts of popular favour. 
Passing erect through the midst, he beckoned forth the 
officer, in attendance at the extreme end, who, after an 
interchange of whispers, ushered him into the royal pre- 
sence. The monks and the priests, gazing tow'ards the 
door which had closed on his stately form, said to each 
other — 

‘^The King’s Norman favourites at least honoured the 
Church.’ 

‘^That is true,’ said an abbot; ^and an it were not for 
two things, 1 should love the Norman better than the 
Saxon.’ 

^What are they, my father.^’ asked an aspiring young 
monk. 

^ Inprinis/ quoth the abbot, proud of the one Latin word 
he thought he knew, but that, as we see, w'as an error ; 
^they cannot speak so as to be understood, and I fear me 
much they incline to mere carnal learning.’ 

Here there was a sanctified groan. 

^ Count William himself spoke to me in Latin ! ’ con- 
tinued the abbot, raising his eyebrows. 

^ Did he — W onderful ! ’ exclaimed several voices. ^ And 
what did you answer, holy father ? ’ 

^ Marry,’ said the abbot, solemnly, *^1 replied, Inprinis/ 

^ Good ! ’ said the young monk, with a look of profound 
admiration. 

^Whereat the good Count looked puzzled— as I meant 
him to be : — a heinous fault, and one intolerant to the 
clergy, that love of profane tongues ! And the next thing 
against your Norman is (added the abbot, with a sly wink), 
that he is a close man, who loves not his stoup ; now, I say, 
that a priest never has more hold over a sinner than when 
he makes the sinner open his heart to him.’ 

‘ That ’s clear ! ’ said a fat priest, with a lubricate "^and 
shining nose. 

^And how,’ pursued the abbot, triumphantly, ‘^can a 
sinner open his heavy heart until you have given him some- 
thing to lighten it Oh, many and many a wretched man 
have I comforted spiritually over a flagon of stout ale ! and 


HAROLD 


115 


many a good legacy to the church hath come out of a 
friendly wassail between watchful shepherd and strayed 
sheep ! But what hast thou there ? ’ resumed the abbot, 
turning to a man, clad in the lay garb of a burgess of 
London, who had just entered the room, followed by a 
youth bearing what seemed a colfer, covered with a line 
linen cloth. 

^ ^ Holy father ! ’ said the burgess, wiping his forehead, 
it is a treasure so great, that I trow Hugoline, the King’s 
treasurer, will scowl at me for a year to come, for he likes 
to keep his own grip on the King’s gold.’ 

At this indiscreet observation, the abbot, the monks, and 
all the priestly bystanders looked grim and gloomy, for 
each had his own special design upon the peace of poor 
Hugoline, the treasurer, and liked not to see him the prey 
of a layman. 

‘Inprinis!' quoth the abbot, puffing out the word with 
great scorn ; ^ thinkest thou, son of Mammon, that our good 
King sets his pious heart on gew-gaws, and gems, and 
such vanities.^ Thou shouldst take the goods to Count 
Baldwin of Flanders ; or Tostig, the proud Earl’s proud 
son.’ 

^ Marry ! ’ said the cheapman, with a smile ; ‘ my treasure 
will find small price with Baldwin the scoffer, and Tostig 
the vain ! Nor need ye look at me so sternly, my fathers ; 
but rather vie with each other who shall win this wonder 
of wonders for his own convent ; know, in a word, that it 
is the right thumb of St. Jude, which a worthy man bought 
at Rome for me, for 3000 lb. weight of silver ; and I ask 
but 500 lb. over the purchase for my pains and my fee. ’ 

‘ Humph ! ’ said the abbot. 

^ Humph ! ’ said the aspiring young monk ; the rest 
gathered wistfully round the linen cloth. 

A fiery exclamation of wrath and disdain was here heard ; 
and all turning, saw a tall, fierce-looking thegn, who had 
found his way into that group, like a hawk in a rookery. 

^Dost thou tell me, knave,’ quoth the thegn, in a dialect 
that bespoke him a Dane by origin, with the broad burr 
still retained in the north ; ^ dost thou tell me that the King 
will waste his gold on such fooleries, while the fort built 
by Canute at the flood of the Humber is all fallen into 
ruin, without a man in steel jacket to keep watch on the 
war fleets of Swede and Norwegian } ’ 

^ Worshipful minister,’ replied the cheapman, with some 
slight irony in his tone, Hhese reverend fathers will tell 
thee that the thumb of St. Jude is far better aid against 
Swede or Norwegian than forts of stone and jackets of steel ; 


116 


HAROLD 


natliless, if thou waiitest jackets of steely I have some to sell 
at a fair price, of the last fashion, and helms with long nose- 
pieces, as are worn by the Normans.’ 

^ The thumb of a withered old saint,’ cried the Dane, not 
heeding the last words, ^ more defence at the mouth of the 
Humber than crenellated castles and mailed men ! ’ 

^Surely, naught son,’ said the abbot, looking shocked, 
and taking part with the cheapman. ^Dost thou not 
remember that, in the pious and famous council of 1014, it 
was decreed to put aside all weapons of flesh against thy 
heathen countrymen, and depend alone on St. Michael to 
fight for us.^ Thinkest thou that the saint would ever 
suffer his holy thumb to fall into the hands of the Gentiles ? 
— never ! Go to, thou art not fit to have conduct of the 
King’s wars. Go to, and repent, my son, or the King shall 
hear of it.’ 

Ah, wolf in sheep’s clothing ! ’ muttered the Dane, 
turning on his heel ; ^ if thy monastery w'ere but built on 
the other side the Humber ! ' 

The cheapman heard him, and smiled. While such the 
scene in the ante-room, w^e follow Harold into the King’s 
presence. 

On entering, he found there a man in the prime of life, 
and, though richly clad in embroidered gonna, and with 
gilt ateghar at his side, still wdth the loose robe, the long 
moustache, and the skin of the throat and right hand 
punctured with characters and devices, which proved his 
adherence to the fashions of the Saxon. And Harold’s 
eye sparkled, for in this guest he recognised the father 
of Aldyth, Earl Algar, son of Leofric. The two nobles 
exchanged grave salutations, and each eyed the other wist- 
fully. 

TTie contrast between the two was striking. The Danish 
race were men generally of larger frame and grander mould 
than the Saxon ; and though in all else, as to exterior, 
Harold was eminently Saxon, yet, in common with his 
brothers, he took from the mother’s side the lofty air and 
iron frame of the old kings of the sea. But Algar, below 
the middle height, though well set, w as slight in comparison 
with Harold. His strength was that which men often take 
rather from the nerve than the muscle ; a strength that 
belongs to quick tempers and restless energies. His light 
blue eye, singularly vivid and glittering ; his quivering lip, 
the veins swelling at each emotion on the fair white temples ; 
the long yellow hair, bright as gold, and resisting, in its easy 
curls, all attempts to curb it into the smooth flow most in 
fashion ; the nervous movements of the gesture ; the some- 


HARO LD 


117 


what sharp and hasty tones of the voice; all opposed, as 
much as if the two men were of different races, the steady, 
deep eye of Harold, his composed mien, sweet and majestic, 
his decorous locks parted on the king-like front, with their 
large single curl where they touched the shoulder. Intelli- 
gence and will were apparent in both the men ; but the 
intelligence of one was acute and rapid, that of the other 
profound and steadfast ; the will of one broke in flashes of 
lightning, that of the other was calm as the summer sun 
at noon. 

^ ITiou art welcome, Harold,’ said the King, with less than 
his usual listlessness, and with a look of relief as the Earl 
approached him. 

^ Our good Algar comes to us with a suit well worthy 
consideration, though pressed somewhat hotly, and evincing 
too great a desire for goods worldly ; contrasting in this his 
most laudable father our well-beloved Leofric, who spends 
his substance in endowing monasteries and dispensing alms ; 
wherefor he shall receive a hundred-fold in the treasure-house 
above.’ 

‘^A good interest, doubtless, my lord the King,’ said 
Algar, quickly, ^ but one that is not paid to heirs ; and the 
more need, if my father (whom I blame not for doing as he 
lists with his own) gives all he hath to the monks — the more 
need, I say, to take care that his son shall be enabled to 
follow his example. As it is, most noble King, I fear me 
that Algar, son of Leofric, will have nothing to give. In 
brief, Earl Harold,’ continued Algar, turning to his fellow 
thegn — ^ in brief, thus stands the matter. When our lord 
the King was first graciously pleased to consent to rule in 
England, the tw'o chiefs who most assured his throne were 
thy father and mine : often foes, they laid aside feud and 
jealousy for the sake of the Saxon line. Now, since then, 
thy father hath strung earldom to earldom, like links in a 
coat-mail. And, save Northumbria and Mercia, well-nigh 
all England falls to him and his sons : whereas my father 
remains what he was, and my father’s son stands landless 
and penceless. In thine absence the King was graciously 
pleased to bestow on me thy father’s earldom ; men say that 
I ruled it well. Thy father returns, and though’ (here 
Algar’s eyes shot fire, and his hand involuntarily rested on 
his ateghar) ^ I could have held it, methinks, by the strong 
hand, I gave it up at thy father’s prayer and the King’s hest, 
with a free heart. Now, therefore, I come to my lord, and 
I ask, What lands and what lordships canst thou spare in 
broad England to Algar, once Earl of Wessex, and son to 
the Leofric whose hand smoothed the way to thy throne ! ” 


118 


HAROLD 


My lord the King is pleased to preach to me contempt of the 
world ‘ thou dost not despise the worlds Earl of the East 
Angles — what sayest thou to the heir of Leofric ? ’ 

^ That thy suit is just/ answered Harold, calmly, ^ but urged 
with small reverence.’ 

Jjarl Algar bounded like a stag that the arrow hath 
startled. 

^ It becomes thee, who hast backed thy suits with war-ships 
and mail, to talk of reverence, and rebuke one whose fathers 
reigned over earldoms, when thine were, no doubt, ceorls at 
the plough. But for Edric Streone, the traitor and low-born, 
what had been Wolnoth, thy grandsire.^’ 

So rude and home an assault in the presence of the King, 
who, though personally he loved Harold in his lukewarm 
way, yet, like all weak men, was not displeased to see the 
strong split their strength against each other, brought the 
blood into Harold’s cheek ; but he answered calmly — 

^ We live in a land, son of Leofric, in which birth, though 
not disesteemed, gives of itself no power in council or camp. 
W e belong to a land where men are valued for what they are, 
not for what their dead ancestors might have been. So has 
it been for ages in Saxon England, where my fathers, 
through Godwin, as thou sayest, might have been ceorls ; 
and so, I have heard, it is in the land of the martial Danes, 
where my fathers, through Githa, reigned on the thrones 
of the North.’ 

^ Thou dost well,’ said Algar, gnawing his lip, ^ to shelter 
thyself on the spindle side, but we Saxons of pure descent 
think little of your kings of the North, pirates and idolaters, 
and eaters of horseflesh ; but enjoy what thou hast, and let 
Algar have his due.’ 

‘ It is for the King, not his servant, to answer the prayer of 
Algar,’ said Harold, withdrawing to the farther end of the room. 

Algar’s eyes followed him, and observing that the King 
was fast sinking into one of the fits of religious reverie in 
which he sought to be inspired with a decision, whenever his 
mind was perplexed, he moved with a light step to Harold, 
put his hand on his shoulder, and whispered — 

^ We do ill to quarrel with each other — I repent me of hot 
words — enough. Thy father is a v ise man, and sees far — 
thy father would have us friends. Be it so. Hearken : my 
daughter Aldyth is esteemed not the least fair of the maidens 
in England ; I will give her to thee as thy wife, and as thy 
morgen gift, thou shalt win for me from the King the earl- 
dom forfeited by thy brother Sweyn, now parcelled out 
amongst sub-earls and thegns — easy enow to control. By 
the shrine of St. Alban, dost thou hesitate, man } ’ 


HAROLD 


110 


not an instant/ said Harold, stung to the quick. 
‘ Not, couldst thou offer me all Mercia as her dower, would I 
wed the daughter of Algar ; and bend my knee, as a son to 
a wife’s father, to the man who despises my lineage, while he 
truckles to my power.’ 

Algar’s face grew convulsed with rage ; but without saying 
a word to the Earl he strode back to Edward, who now with 
vacant eyes looked up from the rosary over which he had 
been bending, and said abruptly — 

^ My lord the King, I have spoken as I think it becomes a 
man who knows his own claims, and believes in the gratitude 
of princes. For three days will I tarry in London for your 
gracious answer ; on the fourth I depart. May the saints 
guard your throne, and bring around it its best defence, the 
thegn-born satraps whose fathers fought with Alfred and 
Athelstan. All went well with merrie England till the hoof 
of the Dane King broke the soil, and mushrooms sprung up 
where the oak-trees fell.’ 

When the son of Leofric had left the chamber, the King 
rose wearily, and said in Norman French, to which language 
he always yearningly returned when with those who could 
speak it — 

‘ Beau frere and hien aime, in what trifles must a king pass 
his life ! And, all this while, matters grave and urgent 
demand me. Know that Eadmer, the cheapman, waits 
without, and hath brought me, dear and good man, the 
thumb of St. Jude ! What thought of delight! And this 
unmannerly son of strife, with his jay’s voice and wolf’s 
eyes, screaming at me for earldoms ! — oh the folly of man ! 
Naught, naught, very naught ! ’ 

‘^Sir and King,’ said Harold ; Jit ill becomes me to arraign 
your pious desires, but these relics are of vast cost ; our 
coasts are ill-defended, and the Dane yet lays claim to your 
kingdom. Three thousand pounds of silver and more does 
it need to repair even the old wall of London and South weorc.’ 

^ Three thousand pounds ! ’ cried the King ; thou art 
mad, Harold ! I have scarce twice that sum in the treasury ; 
and besides the thumb of St. Jude, I daily expect the tooth 
of St. Remigius — the tooth of St. Remigius ! ’ 

Harold sighed. ^Vex not yourself, my lord, I will see 
to the defences of London. For, thanks to your grace, my 
revenues are large, while my wants are simple. I seek you 
now to pray your leave to visit my earldom. My lithsmen 
murmur at my absence, and grievances, many and sore, have 
arisen in my exile.’ 

The King stared in terror ; and his look was that of a child 
when about to be left in the dark. 


120 


HAROLD 


^ Nay, nay ; I cannot spare thee, heau frere. Thou curbest 
all these stiff thegns— thou leavest me time for the devout ; 
moreover, thy father, thy father, I will not be left to thy 
father ! I love him not ! ’ 

^ My father,’ said Harold, mournfully, ^ returns to his own 
earldom ; and of all our House you will have but the mild 
face of your queen by your side ! ’ 

The King’s lip writhed at that hinted rebuke, or implied 
consolation. 

^ Edith the Queen,’ he said, after a slight pause, ‘ is pious 
and good ; and she hath never gainsaid my will, and she 
hath set before her as a model the chaste Susannah, as I, 
unworthy man, from youth upward, have walked in the pure 
steps of Joseph. But,’ added the King, with a touch of 
human feeling in his voice, ^canst thou not conceive, Harold, 
thou who art a warrior, what it would be to see ever before 
thee the face of thy deadliest foe — the one against whom all 
thy struggles of life and death had turned into memories of 
hyssop and gall ? ’ 

^ My sister ! ’ exclaimed Harold, in indignant amaze, ^ My 
sister thy deadliest foe ! She who never once murmured at 
neglect, disgrace — she whose youth hath been consumed in 
prayers for thee and thy realm — my sister ! O King, I 
dream ? ’ 

‘ Thou dreamest not, carnal man,’ said the King, peevishly. 

^ Dreams are the gifts of the saints, and are not granted to 
such as thou ! Dost thou think that, in the prime of my 
manhood, I could have youth and beauty forced on my 
sight, and hear man’s law and man’s voice say, ^^They are 
thine, and thine only,” and not feel that war was brought to 
my hearth, and a snare set on my bed, and that the fiend 
had set watch on my soul? Verily, I tell thee, man of 
battle, that thou hast known no strife as awful as mine, and 
achieved no victory as hard and as holy. And now, when 
my beard is silver, and the Adam of old is expelled at the 
precincts of death ; now, thiiikest thou, that I can be 
reminded of the strife and temptation of yore, without 
bitterness and shame ; when days were spent in fasting, and 
nights in fierce prayer ; and in the face of woman I saw the 
devices of Satan ? ’ 

Edward coloured as he spoke, and his voice trembled with 
the accents of what seemed hate. Harold gazed on him 
mutely, and felt that at last he had won the secret that had 
ever perplexed him, and that in seeking to be above the 
humanity of love, the would-be saint had indeed turned love 
into the hues of hate — a thought of anguish, and a memory 
of pain. 


HAROLD 


121 


The King recovered himself in a few moments, and said, 
with some dignity, ^But God and his saints alone should 
know the secrets of the household. What I have said was 
wrung from me. Bury it in thy heart. Leave me, then, 
Harold, sith so it must be. Put thine earldom in order, 
attend to the monasteries and the poor, and return soon. 
As for Algar, what sayest thou ? ’ 

fear me,’ answered the large-souled Harold, with a 
victorious effort of justice over resentment, ^that if you 
reject his suit you will drive him into some perilous ex- 
tremes. Despite his rash and proud spirit, he is brave 
against foes, and beloved by the ceorls, who oft like best the 
frank and hasty spirit. Wherefore some power and lordship 
it were wise to give, without dispossessing others, and not 
more wise than due, for his father served you well.’ 

^ And hath endowed more houses of God than any earl in 
the kingdom. But Algar is no Leofric. W e will consider 
your words and heed them. Bless you, beau frere! and send 
in the cheapman. The thumb of St. Jude ! What a gift to 
my new church of St. Peter ! The thumb of St. Jude ! — 
Non nobis gloria! Sancta Maria! The thumb of St. Jude ! ’ 


P!T7*. I 


I 

\ 


M; 

. 


BOOK V 

DEATH AND LOVE 

CHAPTER I 

Harold, without waiting once more to see Edith, nor even 
taking leave of his father, repaired to Dunwich, the capital 
of his earldom. In his absence, the King wholly forgot 
Algar and his suit ; and in the meanwhile the only lordships 
at his disposal, Stigand, the grasping Bishop, got from him 
without an effort. In much wrath, Earl Algar, on the 
fourth day, assembling all the loose men-at-arms he could find 
around the metropolis, and at the head of a numerous 
disorderly band, took his way into Wales, with his young 
daughter Aldyth, to whom the crown of a Welch king was 
perhaps some comfort for the loss of the fair Earl ; though 
the rumour ran that she had long since lost her heart to her 
father’s foe. 

Edith, after a long homily from the King, returned to 
Hilda ; nor did her godmother renew the subject of the 
convent. All she said on parting was, ^ Even in youth the 
silver cord may be loosened, and the golden bowl may be 
broken ; and rather perhaps in youth than in age, when the 
heart has grown hard, wilt thou recall with a sigh my 
counsels.’ 

Godwin had departed to Wales ; all his sons were at their 
several lordships ; Edward was left alone to his monks and 
relic-venders. And so months passed. 

Now it was the custom with the old kings of England to 
hold state and wear their crowns thrice a year, at Christmas, 
at Easter, and at Whitsuntide ; and in those times their 
nobles came round them, and there was much feasting and 
great pomp. 

So, in the Easter of the year of our Lord 1053, King 
Edward kept his court at Windshore, and Earl Godwin and 
his sons, and many others of high degree, left their homes to 



HAROLD 


123 


do honour to the King. And Earl Godwin came first to his 
house in London — near the Tower Palatine^ in what is now 
called the Fleet — and Harold the Earl^ and Tostig, and 
Leofwine, and Gurth, were to meet him there^ and go thence, 
with the full state of their sub-thegns, and cnehts, and house- 
carles, their falcons, and their hounds, as become men of 
such rank, to the court of King Edward. 

Earl Godwin sate with his wife, Githa, in a room out of 
the Hall, which looked on the Thames — awaiting Harold, 
who was expected to arrive ere nightfall. Gurth had ridden 
forth to meet his brother, and Leofwine and Tostig had gone 
over to Southwark, to try their hand-dogs on the great b^ear, 
which had been brought from the North a few days before, 
and was said to have hugged many good hounds to death, 
and a large train of thegns and house-carles had gone with 
them to see the sport ; so that the old Earl and his lady the 
Dane sate alone. And there was a cloud upon Earl Godwin’s 
large forehead, and he sate by the lire, spreading his hands 
before it, and looking thoughtfully on the flame, as it broke 
through the smoke which burst out into the cover, or hole in 
the roof. And in that large house there were no less than 
three ^covers,’ or rooms, wherein fires could be lit in the 
centre of the floor ; and the rafters above were blackened 
with the smoke ; and in those good old days, ere chimneys, 
if existing, were much in use, ^ poses, and rheumatisms, and 
catarrhs,’ were unknown — so wholesome and heathful was 
the smoke. Earl Godwin’s favourite hound, old, like himself, 
lay at his feet, dreaming, for it whined and was restless. 
And the Earl’s old hawk, with its feathers all stiff and sparse, 
perched on the dossel of the Earl’s chair ; and the floor was 
pranked with rushes and sw'eet herbs — the first of the spring ; 
and Githa’s feet w^ere on her stool, and she leaned her proud 
face on the small hand which proved her descent from the 
Dane, and rocked herself to and fro, and thought of her 
son W olnoth in the court of the Norman. 

^ Githa,’ at last said the Earl, ^thou hast been to me a 
good wife and a true, and thou hast borne me tall and bold 
sons, some of whom have caused us sorrow, and some joy ; 
and in sorrow and in joy we have but drawn closer to each 
other. Yet when we wed thou wert in thy first youth, and 
the best part of my years was fled ; and thou wert a Dane 
and I a Saxon ; and thou a king’s niece, and now a king’s 
sister, and I but tracing two descents to thegn’s rank.’ 

Moved and marvelling at this touch of sentiment in the 
calm Earl, in whom indeed such sentiment was rare, Githa 
roused herself from her musings, and said, simply and 
anxiously — 


124 


HAROLD 


^ I fear my lord is not well, that lie speaks thus to Githa ! 

The Earl smiled faintly. 

^ Tliou art right with thy woman’s wit, wife. And for the 
last few weeks, though I said it not to alarm thee, I have 
had strange noises in my ears, and a surge, as of blood, to 
the temples.’ 

Godwin! dear spouse,’ said Githa, tenderly, ^and 1 
was blind to the cause, but wondered why there was some 
change in thy manner ! But I will go to Hilda to-morrow ; 
she hath charms against all disease.’ 

^ Leave Hilda in peace, to give her charms to the young ; 
age defies Wigh and Wicca. Now hearken to me. I feel 
that my thread is nigh spent, and, as Hilda would say, my 
Fylgia forewarns me that we are about to part. Silence, I 
say, and hear me. I have done proud things in my day ; I 
have made kings and built thrones, and I stand higher in 
England than ever thegn or earl stood before. I would not, 
Githa, that the tree of my house, planted in the storm, and 
watered with lavish blood, should wither away.’ 

The old Earl paused, and Githa said loftjly — 

^Fear not that thy name will pass from the earth, or 
thy race from power. For fame has been wrought by thy 
hands, and sons have been born to thy embrace ; and the 
boughs of the tree thou hast planted shall live in the sun- 
light when we its roots, O my husband, are buried in the 
earth.’ 

^ Githa,’ replied the Earl, ^ thou speakest as the daughter 
of kings and the mother of men ; but listen to me, for my 
soul is heavy. Of these our sons, our first-born, alas ! is a 
wanderer and an outcast — Sweyn, once the beautiful and 
brave ; and Wolnoth, thy darling, is a guest in the court of 
the Norman, our foe. Of the rest, Gurth is so mild and so 
calm, that I predict without fear that he will be a warrior of 
fame, for the mildest in hall are ever the boldest in field. 
But Gurth hath not the deep wit of these tangled times ; 
and Leofwine is too light, and Tostig too fierce. So wife 
mine, of these our six sons, Harold alone, dauntless as 
Tostig, mild as Gurth, hath his father’s thoughtful brain. 
And if the King remains as aloof as now from his royal 
kinsman, Edward the Atheling, who’ — the Earl hesitated 
and looked round — ^ who so near to the throne when I am 
no more, as Harold, the joy of the ceorls, and the pride of 
the thegns ? — he whose tongue never falters in the Witan, 
and whose arm never yet hath known defeat in the field ? ’ 

Githa’s heart swelled, and her cheek grew flushed. 

^ But what I fear the most,’ resumed the Earl, ^ is, not the 
enemy without, but the jealousy within. By the side of 


HAROLD 


125 


Harold stands Tostig, rapacious to grasp, but impotent to 
hold — able to ruin, stren^liless to save.’ 

^Nay, Godwin, my lord, thou wrongest our handsome 
son.’ 

^ Wife, wife,’ said the Earl, stamping his foot, ‘ hear me 
and obey me ; for my words on earth may be few, and while 
thou gainsayest me the blood mounts to my brain, and my 
eyes see through a cloud.’ 

‘ Forgive me, sw'eet lord,’ said Githa, humbly. 

‘ Mickle and sore it repents me that in their youth I spared 
not the time from my worldly ambition to watch over the 
hearts of my sons ; and thou wert too proud of the surface 
without, to look w ell to the w orkings within, and what w as 
once soft to the touch is now hard to the hammer. In the 
battle of life the arrows we neglect to pick up. Fate, our foe, 
will store in her quiver ; we have armed her ourselves with 
the shafts — the more need to be ware with the shield. 
Wherefore, if thou survivest me, and if, as I forebode, dissen- 
sion break out between Harold and Tostig, I charge thee by 
memory of our love, and reverence for my grave, to deem 
w'ise and just all that Harold deems just and wise. For when 
Godwin is in the dust, his house lives alone in Harold. 
Heed me now, and heed ever. And so, while the day yet 
lasts, I will go forth into the marts and the guilds, and talk 
with the burgesses, and smile on their wives, and be, to the 
last, Godwin the smooth and the strong.’ 

So saying, the old Earl arose, and walked forth with a firm 
step ; and his old hound sprang up, pricked its ears, and 
followed him ; the blinded falcon turned its head towards 
the clapping door, but did not stir from the dossel. 

Then Githa again leant her cheek on her hand, and again 
rocked herself to and fro, gazing into the red flame of the 
fire — red and fitful through the blue smoke — and thought 
over her lord’s words. It might be the third part of an hour 
after Godwin had left the house, when the door opened, and 
Githa, expecting the return of her sons, looked up eagerly, 
but it was Hilda, who stooped her head under the vault of 
the door ; and behind Hilda came tw o of her maidens, bearing 
a small cyst, or chest. The Vala motioned to her attendants 
to lay the cyst at the feet of Githa, and, that done, w ith 
lowdy salutation they left the room. 

The superstitions of the Danes were strong in Githa ; and 
she felt an indescribable awe when Hilda stood before her, 
the red light playing on the Vala’s stern marble face, and 
contrasting robes of funereal black. But, with all her aw e, 
Githa, who, not educated like her daughter Edith, had few 
feminine resources, loved the visits of her mysterious kins- 


126 


HAROLD 


woman. She loved to live her youth over again in discourse 
on the wild customs and dark rites of the Dane ; and even 
her awe itself had the charm which the ghost tale has to the 
child ; — for the illiterate are ever children. So^ recovering 
her surprise, and her first pause, she rose to welcome the 
Vala, and said — 

^ Hail, Hilda, and thrice hail ! The day has been warm 
and the way long ; and, ere thou takest food and wine, let 
me prepare for thee the bath for thy form, or the bath 
for thy feet. For as sleep to the young, is the bath to the 
old.' 

Hilda shook her head. 

^ Bringer of sleep am I, and the baths I prepare are in the 
haUs of Valhalla. Offer not to the Vala the bath for mortal 
weariness, and the w ine and the food meet for human guests. 
Sit thee down, daughter of the Dane, and thank thy new 
gods for the past that hath been thine. Not ours is the 
present, and the future escapes from our dreams ; but the 
past is ours ever, and all eternity cannot revoke a single joy 
that the moment hath known.’ 

Then seating herself in Godwin’s large chair, she leant 
over her seid-staff, and was silent, as if absorbed in her 
thoughts. 

^ Githa,’ she said at last, ^ where is thy lord I came to 
touch his hands and to look on his brow.’ 

^ He hath gone forth into the mart, and my sons are from 
home ; and Harold comes hither, ere night, from his earl- 
dom.’ 

A faint smile, as of triumph, broke over the lips of the 
Vala, and then as suddenly yielded to an expression of great 
sadness. 

^ Githa,’ she said, slowly, ^ doubtless thou rememberest in 
thy young days to have seen or heard of the terrible hell- 
maid Belsta } ’ 

^ Ay, ay,’ answered Githa, shuddering ; ^ I saw' her once 
in gloomy weather, driving before her herds of dark grey 
cattle. Ay, ay ; and my father beheld her ere his death, 
riding the air on a wolf, with a snake for a bridle. Why 
askest thou } ’ 

^Is it not strange,’ said Hilda, evading the question, ^that 
Belsta, and Heidr, and Hulla of old, the wolf-riders, the 
men-devourers, could win to the uttermost secrets of galdra, 
though applied only to purposes the direst and fellest to man, 
and that 1, though ever in the future— I, though tasking the 
Nornas not to afflict a foe, but to shape the careers of those 
I love — I find, indeed, my predictions fulfilled ; but how 
often, alas ! only in horror and doom ! ’ 


HAROLD 


127 


‘How so, kinswoman, how so?’ said Githa, awed yet 
charmed in the awe, and drawing her chair nearer to the 
mournful sorceress. ‘ Didst thou not foretell our return in 
triumph from the unjust outlawry, and, lo, it hath come to 
pass ? and hast thou not ’ (here Githa’s proud face flushed) 

‘ foretold also that my stately Harold shall wear the diadem 
of a king ? ’ 

‘Truly, the first came to pass,’ said Hilda ; ‘but ’ she 

paused, and her eye fell on the cyst ; then breaking off she 
continued, speaking to herself rather than to Githa — ‘ And 
Harold’s dream, what did that portend ? the runes fail me, 
and the dead give no voice. And beyond one dim day, in 
which his betrothed shall clasp him with the arms of a bride, 
all is dark to my vision — dark — dark. Speak not to me, 
Githa ; for a burthen, heavy as the stone on a grave, rests 
on a weary heart ! ’ 

A dead silence succeeded, till, pointing with her staff to 
the fire, the Vala said, ‘ Lo, where the smoke and the flame 
contend ! — the smoke rises in dark gyres to the air, and 
escapes, to join the wrack or clouds. From the first to the 
last we trace its birth and its fall ; from the heart of the fire 
to the descent in the rain, so is it with human reason, which 
is not the light but the smoke ; it struggles but to darken 
us ; it soars but to melt in the vapour and dew. Yet, lo, the 
flame burns in our hearth till the fuel fails, and goes at last, 
none know whither. But it lives in the air though we see it 
not ; it lurks in the stone and waits the flash of the steel ; 
it coils round the dry leaves and sere stalks, and a touch re- 
illumines it; it plays in the marsh — it collects in the heavens 
— it appals us in the lightning — it gives warmth to the air 
— life of our life, and element of all elements. O Githa, 
the flame is the light of the soul, the element everlasting ; 
and it liveth still, when it escapes from our view ; it burnetii 
in the shapes to which it passes ; it vanishes, but is never 
extinct.’ 

So saying, the Vala’s lips again closed ; and again both 
the women sate silent by the great fire, as it flared and 
flickered over the deep lines and high features of Githa, the 
EaiTs wife, and the calm, unwrinkled, solemn face of the 
melancholy Vala. 


CHAPTER II 

While these conferences took place in the house of Godwin, 
Harold, on his way to London, dismissed his train to precede 
him to his father’s roof, and, striking across the country. 


128 


HAROLD 


rode fast and alone towards the old Roman abode of Hilda. 
Months had elapsed since he had seen or heard of Edith. 
News at that time, I need not say, was rare and scarce, 
and limited to public events, either transmitted by special 
nuncius, or passing pilgrim, or borne from lip to lip by the 
talk of the scattered multitude. But even in his busy and 
anxious duties, Harold had in vain sought to banish from his 
heart the image of that young girl, whose life he needed no 
Vala to predict to him was interwoven with the fibres of his 
own. The obstacles which, while he yielded to, he held 
unjust and tyrannical, obstacles allowed by his reluctant 
reason and his secret ambition — not sanctified by conscience 
— only infiamed the deep strength of the solitary passion his 
life had known ; a passion that, dating from the very child- 
hood of Edith, had, often unknown to himself, animated his 
desire of fame, and mingled with his visions of power. Nor, 
though hope was far and dim, was it extinct. The legiti- 
mate heir of Edward the Confessor w^as a prince living in the 
Court of the Emperor, of fair repute, and himself wedded ; 
and Edward’s health, always precarious, seemed to forbid 
any very prolonged existence to the reigning king. Tliere- 
fore, he thought, that through the successor, whose throne 
would rest in safety upon Harold’s support, he might easily 
obtain that dispensation from the Pope which he knew the 
present king would never ask — a dispensation rarely indeed, 
if ever, accorded to any subject, and which, therefore, needed 
all a king’s power to back it. 

So in that hope, and fearful lest it should be quenched for 
ever by Edith’s adoption of the veil and the irrevocable vow, 
with a beating, disturbed, but joyful heart he rode over field 
and through forest to the old Roman house. 

He emerged at length to the rear of the villa, and the sun, 
fast hastening to its decline, shone full upon the rude 
columns of the Druid temple. And there, as he had seen 
her before, when he had first spoken of love and its barriers, 
he beheld the young maiden. 

He sprang from his horse, and leaving the well-trained 
animal loose to browse on the waste land, he ascended the 
knoll. He stole noiselessly behind Edith, and his foot 
stumbled against the grave-stone of the dead Titan-Saxon of 
old. But the apparition, whether real or fancied, and the 
dream that had followed, had long passed from his memory, 
and no superstition was in the heart springing to the lips, 
that cried ‘ Edith ’ once again. 

ITie girl started, looked round, and fell upon his breast. 

It was some moments before she recovered consciousness, 
and then, withdrawing herself gently from his arms, she 
leant for support against the Teuton altar. 


HAROLD 


129 


She was much changed since Harold had seen her last : 
her cheek had grown pale and thin, and her rounded form 
seemed wasted ; and sharp grief, as he gazed, shot through 
the soul of Harold. 

^ Thou hast pined, thou hast suffered,’ said he, mournfully: 
^ and I, who would shed my life’s blood to take one from thy 
sorrows, or add to one of thy joys, have been afar, unable to 
comfort, perhaps only a cause of thy woe.’ 

^ No, Harold,’ said Edith, faintly, ^ never of woe ; always 
of comfort, even in absence. I have been ill, and Hilda hath 
tried rune and charm all in vain. But I am better, now 
that spring hath come tardily forth, and I look on the fresh 
flowers, and hear the song of the birds.’ 

But tears were in the sound of her voice, while she spoke. 

^And they have not tormented thee again with the 
thoughts of the convent ? ’ 

^ They ? no ; — but my soul, yes. O Harold, release me 
from my promise ; for the time already hath come that thy 
sister foretold to me ; the silver cord is loosened, and the 
golden bowl is broken, and I would fain take the wings of 
the dove and be at peace.’ 

^ Is it so ? — Is there peace in the home where the thought 
of Harold becomes a sin ? ’ 

^Not sin then and there, Harold, not sin. Thy sister 
hailed the convent when she thought of prayer for those 
she loved.’ 

^ Prate not to me of my sister ! ’ said Harold, through'his 
set teeth. ^It is but a mockery to talk of prayer for the 
heart that thou thyself rendest in twain. Where is Hilda ? 
I would see her.’ 

^ She hath gone to thy father’s house with a gift ; and 
it was to watch for her return that I sate on the green knoll.’ 

The Earl then drew near and took her hand, and sate by 
her side, and they conversed long. But Harold saw with 
a fierce pang that Edith’s heart was set upon the convent, 
and that even in his presence, and despite his soothing- 
words, she was broken-spirited and despondent. It seemed 
as if her youth and life had gone from her, and the day had 
come in which she said, ^ There is no pleasure.’ 

Never had he seen her thus ; and deeply moved as well 
as keenly stung, he rose at len^h to depart ; her hand lay 
passive in his parting clasp, and a slight shiver went over 
her frame. 

^ Farewell, Edith ; when I return from Windshore, I shall 
be at my old home yonder, and we shall meet again.’ 

Edith’s lips murmured inaudibly, and she bent her eyes 
to the ground. 

I 


130 


HAROLD 


Slowly Harold regained his steed_, and as he rode on, he 
looked behind and waved oft his hand. But Edith sate 
motionless, her eyes still on the ground, and he saw not 
the tears that fell from them fast and burning ; nor heard 
he the low voice that groaned amidst the heathen ruins, 
^ Mary, sweet mother, shelter me from my own heart ! " 

The sun had set before Harold gained the long and 
spacious abode of his father. All around it lay the roofs 
and huts of the great Earl’s special tradesmen, for even 
his goldsmith was hut his freed ceorl. The house itself 
stretched far from the Thames inland, with several low 
courts built only of timber, rugged and shapeless, but 
filled with bold men, then the great furniture of a noble’s 
halls. 

Amidst the shouts of hundreds, eager to hold his stirrup, 
the Earl dismounted, passed the swarming hall, and entered 
the room, in which he found Hilda and Githa — and Godwin, 
who had preceded his entry but a few minutes. 

In the beautiful reverence of son to father, which made 
one of the loveliest features of the Saxon character (as the 
frequent want of it makes the most hateful of the Norman 
vices), the all-powerful Harold bowed his knee to the old 
Earl, who placed his hand on his head in benediction, and 
then kissed him on the cheek and brow. 

^ Tliy kiss, too, dear mother,’ said the younger Earl ; and 
Githa’s embrace, if more cordial than her lord’s, was not, 
perhaps, more fond. 

^ Greet Hilda, my son,’ said Godwin, ^ she hath brought 
me a gift, and she hath tarried to place it under thy special 
care. Thou alone must heed the treasure, and open the 
casket. But when and where, my kinswoman ? ’ 

On the sixth day after thy coming to the King’s hall,’ 
answered Hilda, not returning the smile with which Godwin 
spoke — ^ on the sixth day, Harold, open the chest, and take 
out the robe which hath been spun in the house of Hilda for 
Godwin the Earl. And now, Godwin, I have clasped thine 
hand, and 1 have looked on thy brow, and my mission is 
done ; and I must wend homeward.’ 

^ That shaft thou not, Hilda,’ said the hospitable Earl ; 

^ the meanest wayfarer hath a right to bed and board in this 
house for a night and a day, and thou wilt not disgrace us 
by leaving our threshold, the bread unbroken, and the couch 
unpressed. Old friend, we were young together, and thy 
face is welcome to me as the memory of former days.’ 

Hilda shook her head, and one of those rare, and for that 
reason most touching expressions of tenderness of which the 
calm and rigid character of her features, when in repose. 


HAROLD 181 

seemed scarcely susceptible, softened her eye, and relaxed 
the firm lines of her lips. 

^Son of Wolnoth,’ said she, gently, ^not under thy roof- 
tree should lodge the raven of bode. Bread have I not 
broken since yestere’en, and sleep will be far from my eyes 
to-night. Fear not, for my people without are stout and 
armed, and for the rest there lives not the man whose arm 
can have power over Hilda.’ 

She took Harold’s hand as she spoke, and leading him 
forth, whispered in his ear, ^ I would have a word with thee 
ere we part.’ Then, reaching the threshold, she waved her 
wand thrice over the floor, and muttered in the Danish 
tongue a rude verse, which, translated, ran somewhat 
thus ; — 


‘ All free from the knot 

Glide the thread of the skein, 

And rest to the labour, 

And peace to the pain ! ’ 

^ It is a death-dirge,’ said Githa, with whitening lips, 
but she spoke inly, and neither husband nor son heard her 
words. 

Hilda and Harold passed in silence through the hall, and 
the Vala’s attendants, with spears and torches, rose from the 
settles, and went before to the outer court, where snorted 
impatiently her back palfrey. 

Halting in the midst of the court, she said to Harold, in 
a low voice — 

^ At sunset we part — at sunset we shall meet again. And 
behold, the star rises on the sunset ; and the star, broader 
and brighter, shall rise on the sunset then ! When thy 
hand draws the robe from the chest, think on Hilda, and 
know that at that hour she stands by the gi*ave of the Saxon 
warrior, and that from the grave dawns the future. Farewell 
to thee ! ’ 

Harold longed to speak to her of Edith, but a strange 
aw'e at his heart chained his lips ; so he stood silent by the 
great wooden gates of the rude house. The torches flamed 
round him, and Hilda’s face seemed lurid in the glare. 
Ihere he stood musing long after torch and ceorl had passed 
away, nor did he wake from his reverie till Gurth, springing 
from his panting horse, passed his arm round the Earl’s 
shoulder, and cried — 

^ How did I miss thee, my brother } and why didst thou 
forsake thy train ? ’ 

^ I will tell thee anon. Gurth, has my father ailed ? 
There is that in his face which I like not.’ 


132 


HAROLD 


‘ He hath not complained of misease,’ said Gurth, startled ; 
‘ but now thou speakest of it, his mood hath altered of late, 
and he hath wandered much alone, or only with the old 
hound and the old falcon.’ 

Then Harold turned back, and his heart was full ; and, 
when he reached the house, his father was sitting in the 
hall on his chair of state ; and Githa sate on his right hand, 
and a little below her sate Tostig and Leofwine, who had 
come in from the bear-hunt by the river-gate, and were 
talking loud and merrily ; and thegns and cnehts sate all 
around, and there was wassail as Harold entered. But the 
Earl looked only to his father, and he saw that his eyes were 
absent from the glee, and that he was bending his head over 
the old falcon, which sate on his wrist. 


CHAPTER III 

No subject of England, since the race of Cerdic sate on 
the throne, ever entered the court-yard of W indshore with 
such train and such state as Earl Godwin. — Proud of that 
first occasion, since his return to do homage to him with 
whose cause that of England against the stranger was 
bound, all truly English at heart amongst the thegns of the 
land swelled his retinue. Whether Saxon or Dane, those 
who alike loved the laws and the soil, came from north and 
from south to the peaceful banner of the old Earl. But 
most of these were of the past generation, for the rising 
race were still dazzled by the pomp of the Norman ; and 
the fashion of English manners, and the pride in English 
deeds, had gone out of date with long locks and bearded 
chins. Nor there were the bishops and abbots and the 
lords of the Church — for dear to them already the fame of 
the Norman piety, and they shared the distaste of their 
holy King to the strong sense and homely religion of 
Godwin, who founded no convents, and rode to war with 
no relics round his neck. But they with Godwin were the 
stout and the frank and the free, in whom rested the pith 
and marrow of English manhood ; and they who were 
against him were the blind and willing and fated fathers 
of slaves unborn. 

Not then the stately castle we now behold, which is of 
the masonry of a prouder race, nor on the same site, but 
two miles distant on the winding of the river shore (whence 
it took its name), a rude building partly of timber and 
partly of Roman brick, adjoining a large monastery and 


HAROLD 133 

surrounded by a small hamlet, constituted the palace of 
the saint-king. 

So rode the Earl and his four fair sons, all abreast, into 
the court-yard of Windshore. Now when King Edward 
heard the tramp of the steeds and the hum of the multitudes, 
as he sate in his closet with his abbots and priests, all in 
still contemplation of the thumb of St. Jude, the King 
asked — 

^ What army, in the day of peace, and the time of Easter, 
enters the gates of our palace r ’ 

Then an abbot rose and looked out of the narrow window, 
and said with a groan — 

^ Army thou mayest well call it, O King ! — and foes to us 
and to thee head the legions ’ 

‘ InpriniSf (\\io\h our abbot the scholar; ^ thou speakest, 
1 trow, of the wicked Earl and his sons.’ 

The King’s face changed. ^ Come they,’ said he, ^ with so 
large a train } This smells more of vaunt than of loyalty ; 
naught — very naught.’ 

^ Alack ! ’ said one of the conclave, ^ I fear me that the 
men of Belial will work us harm ; the heathen are mighty, 
and ’ 

^ Fear not,’ said Edward, with benign loftiness, observing 
that his guests grew pale, and himself, though often weak 
to childishness, and morally w’avering and irresolute — still 
so far king and gentleman, that he knew no craven fear of 
the body. ^ Fear not for me, my fathers ; humble as I am, 
I am strong in the faith of heaven and its angels.’ 

The Churchmen looked at each other, sly yet abashed ; 
it was not precisely for the King that they feared. 

Tlien spoke Aired, the good prelate and constant peace- 
maker — fair column and lone one of the fast-crumbling 
Saxon Church. ^ It is ill in you, brethren, to arraign the 
truth and good meaning of those who honour your King ; 
and in these days that lord should ever be the most welcome 
who brings to the hails of his king the largest number of 
hearts, stopt and leal.’ 

^ By your* leave, brother Aired,’ said Stigand, who, though 
from motives of policy he had aided those who besought the 
King not to peril his crown by resisting the return olf God- 
win, benefited too largely by the abuses of the Church to be 
sincerely espoused to the cause of the strong-minded Earl ; 
^By your leave, brother Aired, to every leal heart is a 
ravenous mouth ; and the treasures of the King are wellnigh 
drained in feeding these hungry and welcomeless visitors. 
Durst I counsel my lord, I would pray him, as a matter of 
policy, to baffle this astute and proud Earl. He would fain 


134 


HAROLD 


have the King feast in public^ that he might daunt him and 
the Church with the array of his friends.’ 

*1 conceive thee, my father,’ said Edward, with more 
quickness than habitual, and with the cunning, sharp though 
guileless, that belongs to minds undeveloped, conceive 
thee ; it is good and most politic. This our orgulous Earl 
shall not have his triumph, and, so fresh from his exile, 
brave his King with the mundane parade of his power. Our 
health is our excuse for our absence from the banquet, and, 
sooth to say, we marvel much why Easter should be held a 
fitting time for feasting and mirth. Wherefore, Hugoline, 
my chamberlain, advise the Earl that to-day w'e keep fast 
till the sunset, wdien temperately, with eggs, bread, and fish, 
we will sustain Adam’s nature. Pray him and his sons to 
attend us — they alone be our guests.’ And with a sound 
that seemed a laugh, or the ghost of a laugh, low and 
chuckling — for Edward had at moments an innocent humour 
which his monkish biographer disdained not to note — he 
flung himself back in his chair. The priests took the cue, 
and shook their sides heartily, as Hugoline left the room, 
not ill pleased, by the way, to escape an invitation to the 
eggs, bread, and fish. 

Aired sighed ; and said, ^ For the Earl and his sons, this 
is honour ; but the other earls, and the thegns will miss at 
the banquet him whom they design but to honour, and ’ 

^ I have said,’ interrupted Edward, drily, and with a look 
of fatigue. 

^And,’ observed another Churchman, with malice, ^at 
least the young Earls will be humbled, for they will not sit 
with the King and their father, as they would in the Hall, 
and must serve my lord with napkin and wine.’ 

^ InpriniSf quoth our scholar the abbot, ^ that will be rare ! 
I would I were by to see. But this Godwin is a man of 
treachery and wile, and my lord should bew'are of the fate 
of murdered Alfred, his brother ! ’ 

The King started, and pressed his hands to his eyes. 

^How darest thou. Abbot of Fatchere,’ cried Aired, in- 
dignantly ; ^ how darest thou revive grief without remedy, 
and slander without proof .^’ 

^Without proof.^’ echoed Edward, in a hollow voice. 
^ He who could murder, could well stoop to forswear ! 
Without proof before man ; but did he try the ordeals of 
God.^ — did his feet pass the ploughshare? — did his hand 
grasp the seething iron? Verily, verily, thou didst wrong 
to name to me Alfred my brother ! I shall see his sightless 
and gore-dropping sockets in the face of Godwin, this day, 
at my board. ^ 


HAROLD 


135 


The King rose in great disorder ; and^ after pacing the 
room some moments, disregardful of the silent and scared 
looks of his Churchmen, waved his hand, in sign to them 
to depart. All took the hint at once save Aired ; but he, 
lingering the last, approached the King with dignity in his 
step and compassion in his eyes — 

^Banish from thy breast, O King and son, thoughts 
unmeet, and of doubtful charity ! All that man could know 
of Godwin’s innocence or guilt — the suspicion of the vulgar 
— the acquittal of his peers — was known to thee before thou 
didst seek his aid for thy throne, and didst take his child 
for thy wife. Too late is it now to suspect ; leave thy 
doubts to the solemn day, which draws nigh to the old man, 
thy wife’s father ! ’ 

‘ Ha ! ’ said the King, seeming not to heed, or wilfully 
to misunderstand the prelate, ‘ Ha ! leave him to God : — 
I wiU!’ 

He turned away impatiently ; and the prelate reluctantly 
departed. 


CHAPTER IV 

Tostig chafed mightily at the King’s message ; and, on 
Harold’s attempt to pacify him, grew so violent that nothing 
short of the cold stern command of his father, who carried 
with him that weight of authority never known but to those 
in whom wrath is still and passion noiseless, imposed sullen 
peace on his son’s rugged nature. But the taunts heaped 
by Tostig upon Harold disquieted the old Earl, and his brow 
was yet sad with prophetic care when he entered the royal 
apartments. He had been introduced into the King’s 
presence but a moment before Hugoline led the way to the 
chamber of repast, and the greeting between King and Earl 
had been brief and formal. 

Under the canopy of state were placed but two chairs, for 
the King and the Queen’s father ; and the four sons, Harold, 
Tostig, Leofwine, and Gurth, stood behind. Such was the 
primitive custom of ancient Teutonic kings ; and the feudal 
Norman monarchs only enforced, though with more pomp 
and more rigour, the ceremonial of the forest patriarchs — 
youth to wait on age, and the ministers of the realm on 
those whom their policy had made chiefs in council and war. 

The Earl’s mind, already embittered by the scene with 
his sons, was chafed yet more by the King’s unloving cold- 
ness ; for it is natural to man, however worldly, to feel 


136 


HAROLD 


affection for those he has served, and Godwin had won 
Edward his crown ; nor, despite his warlike though blood- 
less return, could even monk or Norman, in counting up 
the old EaiTs crimes, say that he had ever failed in personal 
respect to the King he had made ; nor over-great for subject, 
as the Earl’s power must be confessed, will historian now 
be found to say that it had not been well for Saxon England 
if Godwin had found more favour with his King, and monk 
and Norman less. 

So the old Earl’s stout heart was stung, and he looked 
from those deep, impenetrable eyes, mournfully upon 
Edward’s chilling brow. 

And Harold, with whom all household ties were strong, 
but to whom his great father was especially dear, watched 
his face and saw that it was very flushed. But the practised 
courtier sought to rally his spirits, and to smile and jest. 

From smile and jest the King turned and asked for wine. 
Harold, starting, advanced with the goblet; as he did so, 
he stumbled with one foot, but lightly recovered himself 
with the other ; and Tostig laughed scornfully at Harold’s 
awkwardness. 

The old Earl observed both stumble and laugh, and 
willing to suggest a lesson to both his sons, said — laughing 
pleasantly — ^ Lo, Harold, how the left foot saves the right ! 
— so one brother, thou seest, helps the other ! ’ 

King Edward looked up suddenly. 

^ And so, Godwin, also, had my brother Alfred helped me, 
hadst thou permitted.’ 

The old Earl, galled to the quick, gazed a moment on 
the King, and his cheek was purple, and his eyes seemed 
bloodshot. 

^ O Edward ! ’ he exclaimed, ^ thou speakest to me hardly 
and unkindly of thy brother Alfred, and often hast thou 
thus more than hinted that I caused his death.’ 

The King made no answer. 

'May this crumb of bread choke me,’ said the Earl, in 
great emotion, ' if 1 am guilty of thy brother’s blood ! ’ 

But scarcely had the bread touched his lips, when his eyes 
fixed, the long warning symptoms were fulfilled. And he 
fell to the ground, under the table, sudden and heavy, 
smitten by the stroke of apoplexy. 

Harold and Gurth sprang forward ; they drew their father 
from the ground. His face, still deep-red with streaks of 
purple, rested on Harold’s breast; and the son, kneeling, 
called in anguish on his father : the ear was deaf. 

Then said the King, rising — 

' It is the hand of God : remove him ! ’ and he swept from 
the room exulting. 


HAROLD 


137 


CHAPTER V 

For five days and five nights did Godwin lie speechless. 
And Harold w^atched over him night and day. And the 
leaches would not bleed him, because the season was against 
it, in the increase of the moon and the tides ; but they 
bathed his temples w ith wheat-flour boiled in milk, accord- 
ing to a prescription w'hich an angel in a dream had advised 
to another patient ; and they placed a plate of lead on his 
breast, marked with five crosses, saying a paternoster over 
each cross ; together with other medical specifics in great 
esteem. But, nevertheless, five days and five nights did 
Godwin lie speechless ; and the leaches then feared that 
human skill was in vain. 

Tlie effect produced on the court, not more by the Earl’s 
death-stroke than the circumstances preceding it, was such 
as defies description. With Godwin’s old comrades in arms 
it was simple and honest grief ; but with all those under the 
influence of the priests, the event was regarded as a direct 
punishment from Heaven. The previous words of the King, 
repeated by Edward to his monks, circulated from lip to lip, 
w ith sundry exaggerations as it travelled : and the super- 
stition of the day had the more excuse, inasmuch as the 
speech of Godwin touched near upon the defiance of one of 
the most popular ordeals of the accused — viz., that called the 
^ corsned,’ in which a piece of bread was given to the sup 
posed criminal ; if he swallowed it with ease he was inno- 
cent ; if it stuck in his throat, or choked him, nay, if he 
shook and turned pale, he was guilty. Godwin’s words 
had appeared to invite the ordeal, God had heard and stricken 
down the presumptuous perjurer ! 

Unconscious, happily, of these attempts to blacken the 
name of his dying father, Harold, towards the grey dawn 
succeeding the fifth night, thought that he heard Godwin 
stir in his bed. So he put aside the curtain, and bent over 
liim. ’fhe old Earl’s eyes were wide open, and the red colour 
had gone from his cheeks, so that he was pale as death. 

‘ How fares it, dear father } ’ asked Harold. 

Godwin smiled fondly, and tried to speak, but his voice 
died in a convulsive rattle. Lifting himself up, however, 
with an effort, he pressed tenderly the hand that clasped 
liis own, leant his head on Harold’s breast, and so gave up 
the ghost. 

AVlieii Harold was at last aware that the struggle was over, 
he laid the grey head gently on the pillow ; he closed the 
eyes, and kissed* the lips, and knelt down and prayed. Then, 


1.38 HAROLD 

seating himself at a little distance, he covered his face with 
his mantle. 

At this time his brother Gurth, who had chiefly shared 
watch with Harold — for Tostig, foreseeing his father’s 
death, was busy soliciting thegn and earl to support his 
own claims to the earldom about to be vacant ; and Leofwine 
had gone to London on the previous day to summon Githa 
who was hourly expected — Gurth, I say, entered the room 
on tiptoe, and seeing his brother’s attitude, guessed that 
all was over. He passed on to the table, took up the lamp, 
and looked long on his father’s face. That strange smile 
of the dead, common alike to innocent and guilty, had 
already settled on the serene lips ; and that no less strange 
transformation from age to youth, when the wrinkles vanish, 
and the features come out clear and sharp from the hollows 
of care and years, had already begun. And the old man 
seemed sleeping in his prime. 

So Gurth kissed the dead, as Harold had done before him, 
and came up and sate himself by his brother’s feet, and 
rested his head on Harold’s knee ; nor would he speak till, 
appalled by the long silence of the Earl, he drew away the 
mantle from his brother’s face with a gentle hand, and the 
large tears were rolling down Harold’s cheeks. 

^ Be soothed, my brother,’ said Gurth ; ^ our father has 
lived for glory, his age was prosperous, and his years more 
than those which the Psalmist allots to man. Come and 
look on his face, Harold ; its calm will comfort thee.’ 

Harold obeyed the hand that led him like a child ; in 
passing towards the bed, his eye fell upon the cyst which 
Hilda had given to the old Earl, and a chill shot through 
his veins. 

^ Gurth,’ said he, ^ is not this the morning of the sixth 
day in which we have been at the King’s Court ? ’ 

^It is the morning of the sixth day.’ 

Then Harold took forth the key which Hilda had given 
him, and unlocked tlie cyst, and there lay the white wind- 
ing-sheet of the dead, and a scroll. Harold took the scroll, 
and bent over it, reading by the mingled light of the lamp 
and the dawn — 

^All hail, Harold, heir of Godwin the great, and Githa 
the king-born ! Tliou hast obeyed Hilda, and thou knowest 
now that Hilda’s eyes read the future, and her lips speak 
the dark words of truth. Bow thy heart to the Vala, and 
mistrust the wisdom that sees only the things of the day- 
light. As the valour of the warrior and the song of the 
scald, so is the lore of the prophetess. It is not of the body, 
it is soul within soul ; it marshals events and men, like the 


HAROLD 


130 


valour — it moulds the air into substance, like the song. Bow 
thy heart to the Vala. Flowers bloom over the grave of 
the dead. And the young plant soars high, when the king 
of the woodland lies low ! ’ 


CHAPTER VI 

The sun rose, and the stairs and passages without were filled 
with the crowds that pressed to hear the news of the Earl’s 
health. Tlie doors stood open, and Gurth led in the multi- 
tude to look their last on the hero of council and camp, who 
had restored with strong hand and wise brain the race of 
Cerdic to the Saxon throne. Harold stood by the bed-head 
silent, and tears were shed and sobs were heard. And many 
a thegn who had before half believed in the guilt of God- 
win as the murderer of Alfred, whispered in gasps to his 
neighbour — 

‘ lliere is no weregeld for manslaying on the head of him 
who smiles so in death on his old comrades in life !’ 

Last of all lingered Leofric, the great Earl of Mercia ; and 
when the rest had departed, he took the pale hand, that lay 
heavy on the coverlid, in his own, and said — 

^Old foe, often stood we in Witan and field against each 
other ; but few are the friends for whom Leofric would 
mourn as he mourns for thee. Peace to thy soul. What- 
ever its sins, England should judge thee mildly, for England 
beat in each pulse of thy heart, and with thy greatness was 
her owm ! ’ 

Then Harold stole round the bed, and put his arms round 
Leofric’s neck, and embraced him. The good old Earl w^as 
touched, and he laid his tremulous hands on Harold’s brown 
locks and blessed him. 

^ Harold,’ he said, ^ thou succeedest to thy father’s power : 
let thy father’s foes be thy friends. Wake from thy grief, 
for thy country now demands thee — the honour of thy 
House, and the memory of the dead. Many even now plot 
against thee and tliine. Seek the King, demand as thy 
right thy father’s earldom, and Leofric will back thy claim 
in the Witan.’ 

Harold pressed Leofric’s hand, and raising it to his 
lips replied — 'Be our houses at peace henceforth and for 
ever.’ 

Tostig’s vanity indeed misled him, when he dreamed that 
any combination of Godwin’s party could meditate support- 


140 


HAROLD 


iiig liis claims against the popular Harold — nor less did the 
monks deceive themselves^ when they supposed, that with 
Godwin’s death, the power of his family would fall. 

There was more than even the unanimity of the chiefs 
of the Witan, in favour of Harold ; there was that universal 
noiseless impression throughout all England, Danish and 
Saxon, that Harold was now the sole man on whom rested 
the state — which, whenever it so favours one individual, is 
irresistible. Nor was Edward himself hostile to Harold, 
whom alone of that House, as we have before said, he 
esteemed and loved. 

Harold was at once named Earl of Wessex ; and relin- 
quishing the earldom he held before, he did not hesitate as 
to the successor to be recommended in his place. Con- 
quering all jealousy and dislike for Algar, he united the 
strength of his party in favour of the son of Leofric, and 
the election fell upon him. With all his hot errors, the 
claims of no other Earl, whether from his own capacities 
or his father’s services, were so strong ; and his election 
probably saved the state from a great danger, in the results 
of that angry mood and that irritated ambition with which 
he had thrown himself into the arms of England’s most 
valiant aggressor, Gryffyth, King of North Wales. 

To outward appearance, by this election, the House of 
Leofric — uniting in father and son the two mighty districts 
of Mercia and the East Anglians — became more powerful 
than that of Godwin ; for, in that last House, Harold was 
now the only possessor of one of the great earldoms, and 
Tostig and the other brothers had no other provision 
beyond the comparatively insignificant lordships they held 
before. But if Harold had ruled no earldom at all, he 
had still been immeasurably the first man in England — so 
great was the confidence reposed in his valour and wis- 
dom. He was of that height in himself, that he needed 
no pedestal to stand on. 

Ihe successor of the first great founder of a House 
succeeds to more than his predecessor’s power, if he but 
know how to wield and maintain it. For who makes his 
way to greatness without raising foes at every step.^ and 
who ever rose to power supreme, without great cause for 
blame ? But Harold stood free from the enmities his father 
had provoked, and pure from the stains that slander or 
repute cast upon his father’s name. Tlie sun of the yester- 
day had shone through cloud ; the sun of the day rose in 
a clear firmament. Even Tostig recognised the superiority 
of his brother ; and after a strong struggle between baffled 
rage and covetous ambition, yielded to him, as to a father. 


HAROLD 


141 


He felt that all Godwin’s house was centred in Harold 
alone ; and that only from his brother (despite his own 
daring valour, and despite his alliance with the blood of 
Charlemagne and Alfred, through the sister of Matilda, the 
Norman duchess) could his avarice of power be gratified. 

^Depart to thy home, my brother,’ said Earl Harold 
to Tostig, ^ and grieve not that Algar is preferred to thee. 
For, even had his claim been less urgent, ill would it have 
beseemed us to arrogate the lordships of all England as 
our dues. Rule thy lordship with wisdom : gain the love 
of thy lithsmen. High claims hast thou in our father’s 
name, and moderation now will but strengthen thee in 
the season to come. Trust on Harold somewhat, on thy- 
self more. Thou hast but to add temper and judgment to 
valour and zeal, to be worthy mate of the first earl in 
England. Over my father’s corpse I embraced my father’s 
foe. Between brother and brother shall there not be love, 
as the best bequest of the dead } ’ 

^It shall not be my fault, if there be not,’ answered 
Tostig, humbled though chafed. And he summoned his 
men and returned to his domains. 


CHjAPTER VII 

Fair, broad, and calm set the sun over the western wood- 
lands. And Hilda stood on the mound, and looked with 
undazzled eyes on the sinking orb. Beside her, Edith 
reclined on the sward, and seemed with idle hand tracing 
characters in the air. The girl had grown paler still, since 
Harold last parted from her on the same spot, and the 
same listless and despondent apathy stamped her smileless 
lips and her bended head. 

^See, child of my heart,’ said Hilda, addressing Edith, 
while she still gazed on the western luminary, ‘see the 
sun goes down to the far deeps, where Rana and iEgir 
watch over the worlds of the sea ; but with morning he 
comes from the walls of the Asas — the golden gates of 
the East — and joy comes in his train. And yet thou 
thinkest, sad child, whose years have scarce passed into 
woman, that the sun, once set, never comes back to life. 
But even while we speak, thy morning draws near, and 
the dunness of cloud takes the hues of the rose ! ’ 

Edith’s hand paused from its vague employment, and fell 
droopingly on her knee ; — she turned with an unquiet and 
anxious eye to Hilda, and after looking some moments 


142 


HAROLD 


wistfully at the Vala, the colour rose to her cheek, and 
she said in a voice that had an accent half of anger — 

^ Hilda, thou art cruel ! ’ 

^So is Fate !’ answered the Vala. ^But men call not 
Fate cruel when it smiles on their desires. Why callest 
thou Hilda cruel, when she reads in the setting sun the 
runes of thy coming joy ! ’ 

^ There is no joy for me,’ returned Edith, plaintively; 
^and I have that on my heart,’ she added, with a sudden 
and almost fierce change of tone, ^ which at last I will dare 
to speak. I reproach thee, Hilda, that thou hast marred 
all my life, that thou hast duped me with dreams, and 
left me alone in despair.’ 

^ Speak on,’ said Hilda, calmly, as a nurse to a froward 
child. 

^ Hast thou not told me, from the first dawn of my won- 
dering reason, that my life and lot were inwoven with — 
with (the word, mad and daring, must out) wdth those of 
Harold the peerless ? But for that, which my infancy took 
from thy lips as a law, I had never been so vain and so 
frantic ! I had never watched each play of his face, and 
treasured each word from his lips ; I had never made my 
life but a part of his life — all my soul but the shadow of 
his sun. But for that, I had hailed the calm of the cloister 
— but for that, I had glided in peace to my grave. And 
now — now, O Hilda — ’ Edith paused, and that break had 
more eloquence than any words she could command. ^And,’ 
she resumed quickly, ‘ thou knowest that these hopes were 
but dreams — that the law ever stood between him and me — 
and that it was guilt to love him.’ 

' 1 knew the law,’ answered Hilda, ^ but the law of fools 
is to the wise as the cobweb swung over the brake to the 
wing of the bird. Ye are sibbe to each other, some five 
times removed ; and therefore an old man at Rome saith 
that ye ought not to wed. \Yhen the shavelings obey the 
old man at Rome, and put aside their own wives and frillas, 
and abstain from the wine cup, and the chase, and the 
brawl, I will stoop to hear of their laws — with disrelish it 
may be, but without scorn. It is no sin to love Harold ; 
and no monk and no law shall prevent your union on the 
day appointed to bring ye together, form and heart.’ 

^ Hilda ! Hilda ! madden me not with joy,’ cried Edith, 
starting up in rapturous emotion, her young face dyed with 
blushes, and all her renovated beauty so celestial that 
Hilda herself was almost awed, as if by the vision of 
Freya, the northern Venus, charmed by a spell from the 
halls of Asgard. 


HAROLD 


143 


^ But that day is distant,’ renewed the Vala. 

^ IVliat matters ! what matters ! ’ cried the pure child of 
Nature ; ^ I ask but hope. Enough, — oh ! enough, if we 
were but wedded on the borders of the grave ! ’ 

* Lo, then,’ said Hilda, ^ behold, the sun of thy life dawns 
again ! ’ 

As she spoke, the Vala stretched her arm, and, through 
the intersticed columns of the fane, Edith saw the large 
shadow of a man cast over the still sward. Presently into 
the space of the circle came Harold, her beloved. His face 
was pale with grief yet recent ; but, perhaps, more than 
ever, dignity was in his step and command on his brow, 
for he felt that now alone with him rested the might of 
Saxon England. And what royal robe so invests with 
imperial majesty the form of man as the grave sense of 
power responsible, in an earnest soul } 

^ Thou comest,’ said Hilda, ‘ in the hour I predicted ; 
at the setting of the sun and the rising of the star.’ 

^ Vala,’ said Harold, gloomily, ^ I will not oppose my sense 
to thy prophecies ; for who shall judge of that power of 
which he knows not the elements.^ or despise the marvel 
of which he cannot detect the imposture ! But leave me, 
I pray thee, to walk in the broad light of the common day. 
Tliese hands are made to grapple with things palpable, 
and these eyes to measure the forms that front my way. 
In my youth, I turned in despair or disgust from the 
subtleties of the schoolmen, which split upon hairs the 
brains of Lombard and Frank ; in my busy and stirring 
manhood entangle me not in the meshes which confuse 
all my reason, and sicken my waking thoughts into dreams 
of awe. Mine be the straight path and the plain goal ! ’ 

Tlie Vala gazed on him with an earnest look, that partook 
of admiration, and yet more of gloom ; but she spoke not, 
and Harold resumed — 

^Let the dead rest, Hilda — proud names with glory on 
earth, and shadows escaped from our ken, submissive to 
mercy in heaven. A vast chasm have my steps overleapt 
since we met, O Hilda — sweet Edith : a vast chasm, but a 
narrow grave.’ His voice faltered a moment, and again 
he renewed — ^Thou weepest, Edith ; ah, how thy tears 
console me ! Hilda, hear me ! I love thy grandchild — 
loved her by irresistible instinct since her blue eyes first 
smiled on mine. I loved her in her childhood, as in her 
youth — in the blossom as in the flower. And thy grand- 
child loves me. The laws of the Church proscribe our 
marriage, and therefore we parted ; but I feel, and thine 
Edith feels, that the love remains as strong in absence : no 


144 


HAROLD 


other will be her wedded lord, no other my wedded wife. 
Therefore, with a heart made soft by sorrow, and, in my 
father s death, sole lord of my fate, I return and say to 
thee in her presence, Suffer us to hope still ! ” The day 
may come when under some king less enthralled than 
Edward by formal Church laws, we may obtain from the 
Pope absolution for our nuptials — a day, perhaps, far off ; 
but we are both young, and love is strong and patient : we 
can wait.’ 

^ O Harold,’ exclaimed Edith, ^ we can wait ! ’ 

^Have I not told thee, son of Godwin,’ said the Vala, 
solemnly,^ that Edith’s skein of life was inwoven with thine ? 
Dost thou deem that my charms have not explored the 
destiny of the last of my race.^ Know that it is in the 
decrees of the fates that ye are to be united, never more 
to be divided. Know that there shall come a day, though 
I can see not its morrow, and it lies dim and afar, which 
shall be the most glorious of thy life, and on which Edith 
and fame shall be thine — the day of thy nativity, on which 
hitherto all things have prospered with thee. In vain against 
the stars preach the mone and the priest ; what shall be, 
shall be. Wherefore take hope and joy, O Children of Time ! 
And now, as 1 join your hands, I betroth your souls.’ 

Rapture unalloyed and unprophetic, born of love deep 
and pure, shone in the eyes of Harold, as he clasped the 
hand of his promised bride. But an involuntary and mys- 
terious shudder passed over Edith’s frame, and she leant 
close, close, for support upon Harold’s breast. And, as if 
by a vision, there rose distinct in her memory, a stern brow, 
a form of power and terror — the brow and the form of him 
who but once again in her waking life the Prophetess had 
told her she should behold. The vision passed away in the 
warm clasp of those protecting arms ; and looking up into 
Harold’s face, she there beheld the mighty and deep delight 
that transfused itself at once into her own soul. 

Then Hilda, placing one hand over their heads, and 
raising the other towards heaven, all radiant with bursting 
stars, said in her deep and thrilling tones — 

‘ Attest the betrothal of these young hearts, O ye Powers 
that draw nature to nature by spells which no galdra can 
trace, and have wrought in the secrets of creation no 
mystery so perfect as love. — Attest it, thou temple, thou 
altar ! — attest it, O sun and O air ! While the forms are 
divided, may the souls cling together — sorrow with sorrow, 
and joy with joy. And when, at length, bride and bride- 
groom are one — O stars, may the trouble with which ye are 
charged have exhausted its burthen ; may no danger molest. 




HAROLD 145 

and no malice disturb, but, over the marriage-bed, shine in 
peace, O ye stars ! ’ 

Up rose the moon. May’s nightingale called its mate 
from the breathless boughs ; and so Edith and Harold were 
betrothed by the grave of the son of Cerdic. And from 
the line of Cerdic had come, since Ethelbert, all the Saxon 
kings who with sword and with sceptre had reigned over 
Saxon England. 


K 


BOOK VI 


AMBITION 

CHAPTER -I 

There was great rejoicing in England. King Edward liad 
been induced to send Aired the Prelate to the court of the 
German Emperor, for his kinsman and namesake, Edward 
Atheling, the son of the great Ironsides. In his childhood, 
this Prince, with his brother Edmund, had been committed 
by Canute to the charge of his vassal, the King of Sweden ; 
and it has been said (though without sufficient authority) that 
Canute’s design was, that they should be secretly made away 
with. The King of Sweden, however, forwarded the children 
to the court of Hungary ; they were there honourably reared 
and received. Edmund died young, without issue. Edward 
married a daughter of the German Emperor, and during the 
commotions in England, and the successive reigns of Harold 
Harefoot, Hardicanute, and the Confessor, had remained 
forgotten in his exile, until now suddenly recalled to England 
as the heir-presumptive of his childless namesake. He 
arrived with Agatha his wife, one infant son Edgar, and two 
daughters, Margaret and Christina. 

Great were the rejoicings. The vast crowd that had 
followed the royal visitors in their procession to the old 
London palace (not far from St. Paul’s) in which they were 
lodged, yet swarmed through the streets, vdieii two thegns 
who had personally accompanied the Atheling from Dover, 
and had just taken leave of him, now emerged from the 
palace, and with some difficulty made their way through the 
crowded streets. \ 

The one in the dress and short hair imitated from the 
Norman, was our old friend Godrith, whom the reader may 
remember as the rebuker of Taillefer, and the friend of 
Mallet de Graville ; the other, in a plain linen Saxon tunic, 
and the gonna worn on state occasions, to which he seemed 
146 


HAROLD 


147 

unfamiliar, but Mutli heavy gold bracelets on his arms, long 
haired and bearded, was Vebba, the Kentish thegii, who had 
served as iiuncius from Godwin to Edw’^ard. 

^ Troth and faith !’ said Vebba, wiping his brow, ^this 
crowd is enow to make plain man stark wode. I would not 
live in London for all the gauds in the goldsmiths’ shops, or 
alt the treasures in King Edward’s vaults. My tongue is as 
parched as a hay-field in the weyd-month. Holy Mother be 
blessed ! 1 see a Cumenhus open ; let us in and refresh our- 
selves with a horn of ale.’ 

^ Nay, friend,’ quoth Godrith, with a slight disdain, ‘ such 
are not the resorts of men of our rank. Tarry yet a while, 
till w'e arrive near the bridge by the river side ; there, indeed, 
you will find worthy company and dainty cheer.’ 

‘ Well, well, I am at your hest, Godrith,’ said the Kent 
man, sighing ; ‘ my wife and my sons will be sure to ask me 
what sights I have seen, and I may as well know from thee 
the last tricks and ways of this hurly-burly town.’ 

Godrith, who was master of all the fashions in the reign of 
our lord King Edward, smiled graciously, and the two 
proceeded in silence, only broken by the sturdy Kent man’s 
exclamations ; now of anger w'hen rudely jostled, now of 
wonder and delight when, amidst the throng, he caught 
sight of a gleeman, with his bear or monkey, who took 
advantage of some space near convent garden, or Roman 
ruin, to exhibit his craft; till they gained a long row of 
booths, most pleasantly situated to the left of this side London 
bridge, and which was appropriated to the celebrated cook- 
shops, that even to the time of Fitzstephen retained their 
fame and their fashion. 

Between the shops and the river was a space of grass worn 
brow'll and bare by the feet of the customers, with a few - 
clipped trees with vines trained from one to the other in 
arcades, under cover of which were set tables and settles. 
The place was thickly crowded, and but for Godrith’s popu- 
larity amongst the attendants, they might have found it 
difficult to obtain accommodation. However, a new table 
was soon brought forth, placed close by the cool margin of 
the water, and covered in a trice with tankards of hippocras, 
pigment, ale, and some Gascon, as well as British wines : 
varieties of the delicious cake bread for which England was 
then renowned ; while viands, strange to the honest eye and 
taste of the wealthy Kent man, were served on spits. 

^ What bird is this ? ’ said he, grumbling. 

^ Oh enviable man, it is a Phrygian attagen that thou art 
about to taste for the first time ; and when thou hast re- 
covered that delight, I commend to thee a Moorish com- 



148 


HAROLD 


pound, made of eggs and roes of carp from the old Soutliweorc 
stewponds, which the cooks here dress notably.’ 

^Moorish! — Holy Virgin!’ cried Vebba, with his mouth 
full of the Phrygian attagen, ^ how came anything Moorish 
in our Christian island } ’ 

Godrith laughed outright. 

‘^Why, our cook here is Moorish ; the best singers in 
London are Moors. Look yonder ! see those grave comely 
Saracens ! ’ 

^Comely, quotha, burnt and black as a charred pine-pole !’ 
grunted Vebba ; ^ well, who are they ? ’ 

^Wealthy traders; thanks to whom, our pretty maids have 
risen high in the market.’ 

^More the shame,’ said the Kent man; ^that selling of 
English youth to foreign masters, whether male or female, 
is a blot on the Saxon name.’ 

^So saith Harold our Earl, and so preach the monks,’ 
returned Godrith. ^But thou, my good friend, who art 
fond of all things that our ancestors did, and hast sneered 
more than once at my Norman robe and cropped hair, thoit 
shouldst not be the one to find fault with what our fathers 
have done since the days of Cerdic.’ 

^ Hem,’ said the Kent man, a little perplexed, ^ certainly 
old manners are the best, and I suppose there is some good 
reason for this practice, which I, who never trouble myself 
about matters that concern me not, do not see.’ 

^ Well, Vebba, and how likest thou the Atheling } he is of 
the old line,’ said Godrith. 

Again the Kent man looked perplexed, and had recourse 
to the ale, which he preferred to all more delicate liquor, 
before he replied — 

^ Why, he speaks English worse than King Edward ! and 
as for his boy Edgar, the child can scarce speak English at 
all. And then their German carles and cnehts ! — An I had 
known what manner of folk they were, I had not spent my 
mancuses in running from my homestead to give them the 
welcome. But they told me that Harold the good Earl had 
made the King send for them : and whatever the Earl coun- 
selled must, 1 thouglit, be wise, and to the weal of sweet 
England.’ ^ 

^ That is true,’ said Godrith with earnest emphasis, for, 
w ith all his affectation of Norman manners, he was thoroughly 
English at heart, and was now among the staunchest sup- 
porters of Harold, who had become no less the pattern and 
pride of the young nobles than the darling of the humbler 
population — ' that is true — and Harold showed us his noble 
English heart when he so urged the King to liis own loss.’ 


HAROLD 


149 


As Godritli thus spoke, nay, from the first mention of 
Harold’s name, two men richly clad, but with their bonnets 
drawn far over their brows, and their long gonnas so worn 
as to hide their forms, who were seated at a table behind 
Godrith and had thus escaped his attention, had paused from 
their wine-cups, and they now listened with much earnest- 
ness to the conversation that followed. 

^ How to the Earl’s loss ?’ asked Vebba. 

^Why, simple thegn,’ answered Godrith, ^why, suppose 
that Edward had refused to acknowledge the Atheling as his 
heir, suppose the Atheling had remained in the German 
court, and our good King died suddenly — who, thinkest 
thou, could succeed to the English throne ? ’ 

^ Marry, I have never thought of that at all,’ said the Kent 
man, scratching his head. 

^ No, nor have the English generally ; yet whom could we 
choose but Harold ? ’ 

A sudden start from one of the listeners was checked 
by the warning finger of the other ; and the Kent man 
exclaimed — 

‘ Body o’ me ! But we have never chosen king (save the 
Danes,) out of the line of Cerdic. These be new cranks, 
with a vengeance ; we shall be choosing German, or Saracen, 
or Norman next ! ’ 

^ Out of the line of Cerdic ! but that line is gone, root and 
branch, save the Atheling, and he thou seest is more German 
than English. Again I say, failing the Atheling, whom could 
we choose but Harold, brother-in-law to the King : descended 
through Githa from the royalties of the Norse, the head of 
all armies under the Herr-ban, the chief who has never 
fought without victory, yet who has always preferred con- 
ciliation to conquest — the first counsellor in the Witan — the 
first man in the realm — who but Harold ? answer me, staring 
Vebba?’ 

‘ I take in thy words slowly,’ said the Kent man, shaking 
his head, ^ and after all, it matters little who is king, so he 
be a good one. Yes, I see now that the Earl was a just and 
generous man when he made the King send for the Atheling. 
Drink-hael ! long life to them both ! ’ 

^ Was-hael,’ answered Godrith, draining his hippocras to 
Vebba’s more potent ale. ‘ Long life to them both ! may 
Edward the Atheling reign, but Harold the Earl rule ! Ah, 
then, indeed, we may sleep without fear of fierce Algar and 
still fiercer Gryffyth the Walloon — who now, it is true, are 
stilled for the moment, thanks to Harold — but not more still 
than the smooth waters in Gwyned, that lie just above the 
rush of a torrent.’ 


loO 


HAROLD 


^So little news hear I,’ said Vebba^ ^aiid in Kent so little 
are we plagued with the troubles elsewhere (for there Harold 
governs us, and the hawks come not where the eagles hold 
eyrie !) — that I will thank thee to tell me something about 
our old Earl for a year/ Algar the restless, and this Gr)'fFyth 
the Welch King, so that I may seem a wise man when 1 go 
back to my homestead.’ 

^ Why, thou knowest at least that Algar and Harold were 
ever opposed in the Witan, and hot words thou hast heard 
pass between them ! ’ 

^ Marry, yes ! But Algar was as little match for Earl 
Harold in speech as in sword-play.’ 

Now again one of the listeners started (but it was not 
the same as the one before), and muttered an angry 
exclamation. 

^ Yet is he a troublesome foe,’ said Godrith, who did not 
hear the sound Vebba had provoked, ^and a thorn in the 
side both of the Earl and of England ; and sorrowful for 
both England and Earl was it, that Harold refused to marry 
Aldyth, as it is said his father, wise Godwin, counselled and 
wished.’ 

^ Ah I but I have heard scops and harpers sing pretty songs 
that Harold loves Edith the Fair, a wondrous proper maiden, 
they say !’ 

^ It is true ; and for the sake of his love, he played ill for 
his ambition.’ 

^ I like him the better for that,’ said the honest Kent man : 
^ why does he not marry the girl at once ? she hath broad 
lands, I know, for they run from the Sussex shore into Kent.’ 

^ But they are cousins five times removed, and the Church 
forbids the marriage ; nevertheless Harold lives only for 
Edith ; they have exchanged the true-lofa, and it is whispered 
that Harold hopes the Atheling, when he comes to be King, 
will get him the Pope’s dispensation. But to return to 
Algar; in a day most unlucky he gave his daughter to 
Grylfyth, the most turbulent sub-king the land ever knew, 
who, it is said, will not be content till he has won all Wales 
for himself without homage or service, and the Marches to 
boot. Some letters between him and Earl Algar, to whom 
Harold had secured the Earldom of the East Angles, were 
discovered, and in a Witan at Winchester thou wilt doubt- 
less have heard (for thou didst not, I know, leave thy lands 
to attend it) that Algar was outlawed.’ 

‘ Oh yes, these are stale tidings ; I heard thus much from 

1 It will be remembered that Algar governed Wessex, which princi- 
pality included Kent, during the year of Godwin’s outlawry. 


HAROLD 


151 


a palmer — and then Algar got ships from the Irish, sailed 
to North Wales, and beat Rolf, the Norman Earl, at Here- 
ford. Oh yes, 1 heard that, and,’ added the Kent man, 
laughing, ^ I was not sorry to hear that my old Earl Algar, 
since he is a good and true Saxon, beat the cowardly Norman, 
— more shame to the King for giving a Norman the ward of 
the Marches ! ’ 

^ It was a sore defeat to the King and to England,’ said 
Godrith, gravely. ^ The great Minster of Hereford built by 
King Athelstan was burned and sacked by the Welch ; and 
the crown itself was in danger, when Harold came up at the 
head of the Fyrd. Hard is it to tell the distress and the 
marching and the camping, and the travail, and destruction 
of men, and also of horses, which the English endured ^ till 
Harold came ; and then luckily came also the good old 
Leofric, and Bishop Aired the peacemaker, and so strife was 
patched up — GrylFyth swore oaths of faith to King Edward, 
and Algar was inlawed ; and there for the nonce rests the 
matter now. But well I ween that Gryffyth will never keep 
troth with the English, and that no hand less strong than 
Harold’s can keep in check a spirit as fiery as Algar’s : 
therefore did I wish that Harold might be King. ’ 

^ Well,’ quoth the honest Kent man, hope, nevertheless^ 
that Algar will sow his wild oats, and leave the Walloons to 
grow the hemp for their own halters ; for, though he is not 
of the height of our Harold, he is a true Saxon, and we liked 
him well enow when he ruled us. And how is our Earl’s 
brother Tostig esteemed by the Northmen } It must be hard 
to please those who had Siward of the strong arm for their 
Earl before.’ 

^ MTiy, at first, when (at Siward’s death in the wars for 
young Malcolm) Harold secured to Tostig the Northumbrian 
earldom, Tostig went by his brother’s counsel, and ruled 
well and won favour. Of late I hear that the Northmen 
murmur. Tostig is a man indeed dour and haughty.’ 

After a few more questions and answers on the news of 
the day, Vebba rose and said — 

‘ Thanks for thy good fellowship ; it is time for me now to 
be jogging homeward. I left my ceorls and horses on the 
other side the river, and must go after them. And now 
forgive me my bluntness, fellow thegn, but ye young 
courtiers have plenty of need for your mancuses, and when a 
plain countryman like me comes sight-seeing, he ought to 
stand payment ; wherefore,’ here he took from his belt a 
great leathern purse, ‘ wherefore, as these outlandish birds 
and heathenish puddings must be dear fare — ’ 

1 Saxon Chron,, verbatim, 


152 


HAROLD 


'How !’ said Godritli, reddening, 'tliinkest thou so meanly 
of us thegns of Middlesex as to deem we cannot entertain 
thus humbly a friend from a distance? Ye Kent men I 
know are rich. But keep your pennies to buy stulFs for 
your wife, my friend.’ 

The Kent man, seeing he had displeased his companion, 
did not press his liberal offer — put up his purse, and suffered 
Godrith to pay the reckoning. Then, as the two thegns 
shook hands, he said — 

' But I should like to have said a kind word or so to Earl 
Harold — for he was too busy and too great for me to come 
across him in the old palace yonder. I have a mind to go 
back and look for him at his own house.’ 

'You will not find him there,’ said Godrith, 'for I know 
that as soon as he hath finished his conference with the 
Atheling, he will leave the city ; and I shall be at his own 
favourite manse over the M ater at sunset, to take orders for 
repairing the forts and dykes on the Marches. You can 
tarry a while and meet us ; you know his old lodge in the 
forest land ? ’ 

' Nay, I must be back and at home ere night, for all things 
go wrong when the master is away. Yet, indeed, my good 
Mufe Mill scold me for not having shaken hands M'ith the 
handsome Earl.’ 

'Thou shalt not come under that sad infliction,’ said 
the good-natured Godrith, who was pleased with the thegn’s 
devotion to Harold, and who, knowing the great weight 
M'hich Vebba (homely as he seemed) carried in his important 
county, M^as politically anxious that the Earl should humour 
so sturdy a friend — 'Thou shalt not sour thy wife’s kiss, 
man. For look you, as you ride back you muU pass by a 
large old house, with broken columns at the back.’ 

'I have marked it well,’ said the thegn, 'Mhen I have 
gone that way, with a heap of queer stones, on a little 
hillock, M'hich they say the witches or the Britons heaped 
together.’ 

'The same. ^Yhen Harold leaves London, I trow well 
towards that house m ill his road Mend ; for there lives Edith 
the swan’s-neck, with her aM'ful grandam the Wicca. If 
thou art there a little after noon, depend on it thou wilt see 
Harold riding that way.’ 

' Thank thee heartily, friend Godrith,’ said Vebba, taking 
his leave, 'and forgive my bluntness if I laughed at thy 
cropped head, for 1 see thou art as good a Saxon as ere a 
frankling of Kent — and so the saints keep thee.’ 

Vebba then strode briskly over the bridge; and Godrith, 
animated by the wine he had drunk, turned gaily on his 


HAROLD 


153 


heel to look amongst the crowded tables for some chance 
friend with whom to while away an hour or so at the games 
of hazard then in vogue. 

Scarce had he turned when the two listeners, who, having 
paid their reckoning, had moved under shade of one of the 
arcades, dropped into a boat which they had summoned to 
the margin by a noiseless signal, and were rowed over the 
water. They preserved a silence which seemed thoughtful 
and gloomy until they reached the opposite shore ; then one 
of them pushing back his bonnet, showed the sharp and 
haughty features of Algar. 

^Well, friend GryfFyth,* said he, with a bitter accent, 
^ thou hearest that Earl Harold counts so little on the oaths 
of thy king, that he intends to fortify the Marches against 
him ; and thou hearest also, that nought save a life, as 
fragile as the reed which thy feet are trampling, stands 
between the throne of England and the only Englishman 
who could ever have humbled my son-in-law to swear oath of 
service to Edward.* 

‘ Shame upon that hour,’ said the other, whose speech, as 
well as the gold collar round his neck, and the peculiar 
fashion of his hair, betokened him to be Welch. ^Little 
did I think that the great son of Llewellyn, whom our 
bards had set above Roderic Mawr, would ever have acknow- 
ledged the sovereignty of the Saxon over the hills of Cymry.’ 

^Tut, Meredydd,’ answered Algar, ^thou knowest well 
that no Cymrian ever deems himself dishonoured by break- 
ing faith with the Saxon ; and we shall yet see the lions of 
Gryffyth scaring the sheepfolds of Hereford.’ 

^ So be it,’ said Meredydd, fiercely. ‘ And Harold shall 
give to his Atheling the Saxon land, shorn at least of the 
Cymrian kingdom.’ 

Meredydd,’ said Algar, with a seriousness that seemed 
almost solemn, ^ no Atheling will live to rule these realms ! 
Thou knowest that I was one of the first to hail the news 
of his coming — I hastened to Dover to meet him. Me- 
thought 1 saw death writ on his countenance, and I bribed 
the German leach who attends him to answer my questions ; 
the Atheling knows it not, but he bears within him the 
seeds of a mortal complaint. Thou wottest well what cause 
I have to hate Earl Harold ; and were I the only man to 
oppose his way to the throne, he should not ascend it but 
over my corpse. But when Godrith, his creature, spoke, 1 
felt that he spoke the truth ; and, the Atheling dead, on no 
head but Harold’s can fall the crown of Edward.’ 

^ Ha ! ’ said the Cymrian chief, gloomily ; ^ thinkest thou 
so indeed ? ’ 


154 


HAROLD 


^ I think it not ; I know it. And for that reason, Mere- 
dydd, we must wait not till he wields against us all the 
royalty of England. As yet, while Edward lives, there is 
hope. For the King loves to spend wealth on relics and 
priests, and is slow when the mancuses are wanted for fight- 
ing men. The King too, poor man ! is not so ill-pleased at 
my outbursts as he would fain have it thought ; he thinks, 
by pitting earl against earl, that he himself is the stronger. 
"IFhile Edward lives, therefore, Harold’s arm is half crippled; 
wherefore, Meredydd, ride thou, with good speed, hack to 
King Gryffyth, and tell him all I have told thee. Tell him 
that our time to strike the blow and renew the war will be 
amidst the dismay and confusion that the Atheling’s death 
will occasion. Tell him, that if we can entangle Harold him- 
self in the Welch defiles, it will go hard but what we 
shall find some arrow or dagger to pierce the heart of the 
invader. And were Harold but slain — who then would be 
king in England ? The line of Cerdic gone — the house of 
Godwin lost in Earl Harold (for Tostig is hated in his own 
domain, Leofwine is too light, and Gurth is too saintly for 
such ambition) — who then, I say, can be king in England 
hut Algar, the heir of the great Leofric ? And I, as King of 
England, will set all Cymry free, and restore to the realm of 
Gryffyth the shires of Hereford and Worcester. Ride fast, 
O Meredydd, and heed well all I have said.’ 

^Dost thou promise and swear, that wert thou king of 
England, Cymry should be free from all service } ’ 

‘ Free as air, free as under Arthur and Uther : I swear it. 
And remember well how Harold addressed the Cymrian 
chiefs, when he accepted Gryffyth’s oaths of service.’ 

‘ Remember it — ay,’ cried Meredydd, his face lighting up 
with intense ire and revenge ; ^ the stern Saxon said, “ Heed 
well, ye chiefs of Cymry, and thou Gryffyth the King, that 
if again ye force, by ravage and rapine, by sacrilege and 
murther, the majesty of England to enter your borders, 
duty must be done : God grant that your Cymrian lion may 
leave us in peace — if not, it is mercy to human life that bids 
us cut the talons and draw the fangs.” ’ 

^ Harold, like all calm and mild men, ever says less than 
he means,’ returned Algar ; ^ and were Harold king, small 
pretext would he need for cutting the talons, and drawing 
the fangs.’ 

^ It is well,’ said Meredydd, with a fierce smile. ^ I will 
now go to my men who are lodged yonder ; and it is better 
that thou shouldst not be seen with me.’ 

^ Right ; so St. David be with you — and forget not a word 
of my message to Gryffji;h my son-in-law.’ 


HAROLD 


155 


^ Not a word/ returned Meredydd, as with a wave of his 
hand he moved towards an hostelry, to wdiich, as kept by one 
of their own countrymen, the Welch habitually resorted in 
the visits to the capital which the various intrigues and dis- 
sensions in their unhappy land made frequent. 

The chief s train, which consisted of ten men, all of high 
birth, were not drinking in the tavern — for sorry customers 
to mine host were the abstemious Welch. Stretched on the 
grass under the trees of an orchard that backed the hostelry, 
and utterly indifferent to all the rejoicings that animated the 
population of Southwark and London, they were listening to 
a w ild song of the old hero- days from one of their number ; 
and round them grazed the rough-shagged ponies which they 
had used for their journey. Meredydd, approaching, gazed 
round, and seeing no stranger w^as present, raised his hand 
to hush the song, and then addressed his countrymen briefly 
in AVelch — briefly, but with a passion that was evident in 
his flashing eyes and vehement gestures. Tlie passion w as 
contagious ; they all sprang to their feet with a low but fierce 
cry, and in a few moments they had caught and saddled their 
diminutive palfreys, while one of the band, wdio seemed 
singled out by Meredydd, sallied forth alone from the 
orchard, and took his way, on foot, to the bridge. He did 
not tarry there long ; at the sight of a single horseman, 
whom a shout of welcome, on that swarming thoroughfare, 
proclaimed to be Earl Harold, the Welchman turned, and 
with a fleet foot regained his companions. 

Meanwhile Harold, smilingly, returned the greetings he 
received, cleared the bridge, passed the suburbs, and soon 
gained the w ild forest land that lay along the great Kentish 
road. He rode somewdiat slowly, for he w^as evidently in 
deep thought; and he had arrived about half-w'ay towards 
Hilda’s house w’hen he heard behind quick pattering sounds, 
as of small unshod hoofs : he turned, and saw the Welchmen 
at the distance of some fifty yards. But at that moment 
there passed, along the road in front, several persons bustling 
into London to share in the festivities of the day. Tliis 
seemed to disconcert the 'VTelch in the rear, and, after a few' 
w’hispered words, they left the high road and entered the 
forest land. Various groups from time to time continued to 
pass along the thoroughfare. But still, ever through the 
glades, Harold caught glimpses of the riders ; now distant, 
now near. Sometimes he heard the snort of their small 
horses, and saw' a fierce eye glaring through the bushes ; 
then, as at the sight or sound of approaching passengers, 
the riders w heeled, and shot off through the brakes. 

'Lhe Earl’s suspicions w ere aroused ; for (though he knew 


HAROLD 


]5G 

of no enemy to apprehend, and the extreme severity of the 
laws against robbers made the high roads much safer in the 
latter days of the Saxon domination than they were for 
centuries under that of the subsequent dynasty, when Saxon 
thegns themselves had turned kings of the greenwood), the 
various insurrections in Edward’s reign had necessarily 
thrown upon society many turbulent disbanded mercenaries. 

Harold was unarmed, save the spear which, even on 
occasions of state, the Saxon noble rarely laid aside, and the 
ateghar in his belt ; and, seeing now that the road had 
become deserted, he set spurs to his horse, and was just in 
sight of the Druid Temple, when a javelin w hizzed close by 
his breast, and another transfixed his horse, which fell head 
foremost to the ground. 

The Earl gained his feet in an instant, and that haste 
w'as needed to save his life ; for while he rose ten swords 
flashed around him. The Welchmen had sprung from 
their palfreys as Harold’s horse fell. Fortunately for him, 
only two of the party bore javelins (a weapon which 
the Welch wielded with deadly skill) and, those already 
wasted, they drew their short swords, which were probably 
imitated from the Romans, and rushed upon him in simul- 
taneous onset. Versed in all the weapons of tlie time, 
with his right hand seeking by his spear to keep off tlie 
rusli, wdth the ateghar in his left parrying the strokes 
aimed at him, the brave Earl transfixed the first assailant, 
and sore wounded the next ; but his tunic was dyed red 
with three gashes, and his sole chance of life w’as in the 
power yet left him to force his w^ay through the ring. 
Dropping liis spear, shifting his ateghar into the right 
hand, wrapping round his left arm his gonna as a shield, 
he sprang fiercely on the onslaught, and on the flashing 
swords. Pierced to the heart fell one of his foes — dashed 
to the earth anotlier — from the hand of a tliird (dropping 
his own ateghar) he wrenched the sword. Loud rose 
Harold’s cry for aid, and swiftly he strode towards the 
hillock, turning back, and striking as he turned ; and again 
fell a foe, and again new blood oozed through his ow n garb. 
At that moment his cry was echoed by a shriek so sharp and 
so piercing that it startled the assailants, it arrested tlie 
assault ; and, ere the unequal strife could be resumed, a 
woman w as in the midst of the fray ; — a woman stood 
dauntless between the Earl and his foes. 

Back ! Edith. Oh, God ! Back, back ! ’ cried the 
Earl, recovering all his strength in the sole fear which that 
strife had yet stricken into his bold heart ; and drawing Edith 
aside with his strong arm, lie again confronted the assailants. 


HAROLD 


157 


^ Die ! ’ criedj in the Cymriaii tongue, the fiercest of the 
foes, whose sword had already twice drawn tlie Earl’s 
blood ; ' Die, that Cymry may be free ! ’ 

Meredydd sprang, with him sprang the survivors of his 
band ; and, by a sudden movement, Edith had thrown 
herself on Harold’s breast, leaving his right arm free, but 
sheltering his form with her own. 

At that sight every sword rested still in air. These 
Cymrians, hesitating not at the murder of the man whose 
death seemed to their false virtue a sacrifice due to their 
hopes of freedom, were still the descendants of Heroes, and 
the children of noble Song, and their swords were harm- 
less against a woman. The same pause which saved the 
life of Harold, saved that of Meredydd ; for the Cymrian’s 
lifted sword had left his breast defenceless, and Harold, 
despite his wrath, and his fears for Edith, touched by that 
sudden forbearance, forbore himself the blow. 

^Why seek ye my life.^’ said he. ^Whom in broad 
England hath Harold wronged ? ’ 

That speech broke the charm, revived the suspense of 
vengeance. With a sudden aim, Meredydd smote at the 
head which Edith’s embrace left unprotected. The sword 
shivered on the steel of that which parried the stroke, and 
the next moment, pierced to the heart, Meredydd fell to 
the earth, bathed in his gore. Even as he fell, aid was at 
hand. ITie ceorls in the Roman house had caught the 
alarm, and were hurrying down the knoll, with arms 
snatched in haste, while a loud whoop broke from the forest 
land hard by ; and a troop of horse, headed by Vebba, 
rushed through the bushes and brakes. Those of the 
Welch still surviving, no longer animated by their fiery 
chief, turned on the instant, and fled with that M'onderful 
speed of foot which characterised their active race ; calling 
as they fled, to their Welch pigmy steeds, which, snorting 
loud, and lashing out came at once to the call. Seizing 
the nearest at hand, the fugitives sprang to selle, while 
the animals unchosen, paused by the corpses of their 
former riders, neighing piteously, and shaking their long 
manes. And then, after wheeling round and round the 
coming horsemen, with many a plunge, and lash, and 
savage cry, they darted after their companions, and disap- 
peared amongst the bushwood. Some of the Kentish men 
gave chase to the fugitives, but in v^ain ; for the nature of 
the ground favoured flight. Vebba, and the rest, now joined 
by Hilda’s lithsmen, gained the spot where Harold, bleed- 
ing fast, yet strove to keep his footing, and, forgetful of his 
own wounds, was joyfully assuring himself of Edith’s safety. 
Vebba dismounted, and recognising the Earl, exclaimed — 


158 


HAROLD 


^Saints in heaven ! are we in time? You bleed — you 
faint ! — Speak, Lord Harold. How fares it?’ 

^ Blood enow yet left here for our merrie England ! ’ 
said Harold, with a smile. But as he spoke, his head 
drooped, and he was borne senseless into the house of 
Hilda. 


CHAPTER II 

The Vala met them at the threshold, and testified so little 
surprise at the sight of the bleeding and unconscious Earl, 
that Vebba, who had heard strange tales of Hilda’s unlawful 
arts, half-suspected that those wild-looking foes, with their 
uncanny diminutive horses, were imps conjured by her to 
punish a wooer to her grandchild — who had been perhaps 
too successful in the wooing. And fears so reasonable were 
not a little increased when Hilda, after leading the way 
up the steep ladder to the chamber in which Harold had 
dreamed his fearful dream, bade them all depart, and leave 
the wounded man to her care. 

^Not so,’ said Vebba, bluffly. ^A life like this is not 
to be left in the hands of woman, or wicca. I shall go 
back to the great town, and summon the Earl’s own leach. 
And I beg thee to heed, meanwhile, that every head in this 
house shall answer for Harold’s.’ 

The great Vala, and highborn Hleafdian, little accus- 
tomed to be accosted thus, turned round abruptly, with so 
stern an eye and so imperious a mien, that even the stout 
Kent man felt abashed. She pointed to the door opening 
on the ladder, and said, briefly — 

^ Depart ! Thy lord’s life hath been saved already, and 
by woman. Depart ! ’ 

^ Depart, and fear not for the Earl, brave and true friend 
in need,’ said Edith, looking up from Harold’s pale lips, 
over which she bent ; and her sweet voice so touched the 
good thegn, that, murmuring a blessing on her fair face, 
he turned and departed. 

Hilda then proceeded, with a light and skilful hand, to 
examine the wounds of her patient. She opened the tunic, 
and washed away the blood from four gaping orifices on 
the breast and shoulders. And as she did so, Edith 
uttered a faint cry, and, falling on her knees, bowed her 
head over the drooping hand, and kissed it with stifling 
emotions, of which perhaps grateful joy was the strongest ; 


HAROLD 


150 


for over the heart of Harold was punctured, after the 
fashion of the Saxons, a device — and that device was the 
knot of betrothal, and in the centre of the knot was 
graven the word ^ Edith.’ 


CHAPTER III 

AV'’hether owing to Hilda’s runes, or to the merely human 
arts which accompanied them, the Earl’s recovery was 
rapid, though the great loss of blood he had sustained left 
him a while w’eak and exhausted. But, perhaps, he blessed 
the excuse which detained him still in the house of Hilda, 
and under the eyes of Edith. 

He dismissed the leach sent to him by Vebba, and con- 
fided, not without reason, to the Vala’s skill. And how 
happily w ent his hours beneath the old Roman roof ! 

It was not without a superstition, more characterised, 
how ever, by tenderness than aw e, that Harold learned that 
Edith had been undefinably impressed with a foreboding 
of danger to her betrothed, and all that morning she had 
watched his coming from the old legendary hill. Was it 
not in that w^atch that his good Fylgia had saved his life ? 

Indeed, there seemed a strange truth in Hilda’s asser- 
tions, that in the form of his betrothed, his tutelary spirit 
li^'ed and guarded. For smooth every step, and bright 
every day, in his career, since their troth had been plighted. 
And gradually the sweet superstition had mingled with 
human passion to hallow' and refine it. There w’as a purity 
and a depth in the love of these two, which, if not un- 
common in w omen, is most rare in men. 

Harold, in sober truth, had learned to look on Edith as 
on his better angel ; and, calming his strong manly heart 
ill the hour of temptation, would have recoiled, as a sacri- 
lege, from aught that could have sullied that image of 
celestial love. 'With a noble and sublime patience, of 
which perhaps only a character so thoroughly English in 
its habits of self-control and steadfast endurance could 
have been capable, he saw the months and the years glide 
away, and still contented himself with hope; — hope, the 
sole godlike joy that belongs to men ! 

As the opinion of an age influences even those who affect 
to despise it, so, perhaps, this holy and unselfish passion 
was preserved and guarded by that peculiar veneration for 
purity which formed the characteristic fanaticism of the 


160 


HAROLD 


last days of the Anglo-Saxons — when still, as Aldhelm 
had previously sung in Latin less barbarous than perhaps 
any priest in the reign of Edward could command, — 


‘ Virginitas castam servans sine crimine carnem 
Csetera virtutem vincit praeconia laudi — 

Spiritus altithroni templum sibi vindicat almus ; ’ i 


wdien, amidst a great dissoluteness of manners, alike 
common to Church and laity, the opposite virtues were, as 
is invariable in such epochs of society, carried by the few 
purer natures into heroic extremes. ^And as gold, the 
adorner of the world, springs from the sordid bosom of 
earth, so chastity, the image of gold, rose bright and un- 
sullied from the clay of human desire. 

And Edith, though yet in the tenderest flush of beautiful 
youth, had, under the influence of that sanctifying and 
scarce earthly afiection, perfected her full nature as woman. 
She had learned so to live in Harold’s life, that — less, it 
seemed, by study than intuition — a knowledge graver than 
that which belonged to her sex and her time, seemed to 
fall upon her soul — fall as the sunlight falls on the 
blossoms, expanding their petals, and brightening the glory 
of their hues. 

Hitherto, living under the shade of Hilda’s dreary creed, 
Edith, as we have seen, had been rather Christian by name 
and instinct than acquainted with the doctrines of the 
Gospel, or penetrated by its faith. But the soul of Harold 
lifted her own out of the Valley of the Shadow up to the 
Heavenly Hill. For the character of their love was so 
pre-eminently Christian, so, by the circumstances that 
•surrounded it — so by hope and self-denial, elevated out of 
the empire, not only of the senses, but even of that senti- 
ment which springs from them, and which made the sole 
refined and poetic element of the heathen’s love, that but 
for Christianity it would have withered and died. It re- 
quired all the aliment of prayer ; it needed that patient 
endurance which comes from the soul’s consciousness of 
immortality ; it could not have resisted earth, but from 
the forts and armies it w'on from heaven. Thus from 


1 ‘ The chaste who blameless keep unsullied fame, 

Transcend all other worth, all other praise. 

The Spirit, high enthroned, has made their hearts 
His sacred temple,’ 

Sharon Turner’s Translation of Aldhelm, vol. iii. p. 366. It is 
curious to see how, even in Latin, the poet preserves the alliterations 
that characterised the Saxon muse. 

2 Sliglitly altered from Aldhelm. 


HAROLD 


161 


Harold might Edith be said to have taken her very soul. 
And with the soul, and through the soul, woke the mind 
from the mists of childhood. 

In the intense desire to be worthy the love of the fore- 
most man of her land ; to be the companion of his mind, 
as well as the mistress of his heart, she had acquired, she 
knew not how, strange stores of thought, and intelligence, 
and pure, gentle wisdom. In opening to her confidence 
his own high aims and projects, he himself was scarcely 
conscious how often he confided but to consult — how often 
and how insensibly she coloured his reflections and shaped 
his designs. Whatever was highest and purest, that, Edith 
ever, as by instinct, beheld as the wisest. She grew to him 
like a second conscience, diviner than his own. Each, 
therefore, reflected virtue on the other, as planet illumines 
planet. 

All these years of probation, then, which might have 
soured a love less holy, changed into weariness a love less 
intense, had only served to wed them more intimately soul 
to soul ; and in that spotless union what happiness there 
was ! what rapture in word and glance, and the slight, 
restrained, caress of innocence, beyond all the transports 
love only human can bestow ! 


CHAPTER IV 

It was a bright still summer noon, when Harold sate 
with Edith amidst the columns of the Druid temple, and 
in the shade which those vast and mournful relics of a 
faith departed cast along the sward. And there, conversing 
over the past, and planning the future, they had sate long, 
when Hilda approached from the house, and entering the 
circle, leant her arm upon the altar of the war-dog, and 
gazing on Harold with a calm triumph in her aspect, said — 
^Did I not smile, son of Godwin, when, with thy short- 
sighted wisdom, thou didst think to guard thy land and 
secure thy love, by urging the monk-king to send over the 
seas for the Atheling.^ Did I not tell thee, ^^Thou dost 
right, for in obeying thy judgment thou art but the instru- 
ment of fate ; and the coming of the Atheling shall speed 
thee nearer to the ends of thy life, but not from the 
Atheling shalt thou take the crown of thy love, and not by 
the Atheling shall the throne of Athelstan be filled * 
^Alas,’ said Harold, rising in agitation, Met me not 

L 


1G2 


HAROLD 


hear of mischance to that noble prince. He seemed sick 
and feeble when I parted from him ; but joy is a great 
restorer, and the air of the native land gives quick health 
to the exile.’ 

^Hark !’ said Hilda, ^you hear the passing bell for the 
soul of the son of Ironsides ! ’ 

The mournful knell, as she spoke, came dull from the 
roofs of the city afar, borne to their ears by the exceeding 
stillness of the atmosphere. Edith crossed herself, and 
murmured a prayer according to the custom of the age ; 
then raising her eyes to Harold, she murmured, as she 
clasped her hands — 

^Be not saddened, Harold ; hope still.’ 

^ Hope ! ’ repeated Hilda, rising proudly from her re- 
cumbent position, ^ Hope ! in that knell from St. Paul’s, 
dull indeed is thine ear, O Harold, if thou hearest not the 
joy-bells that inaugurate a future king !’ 

The Earl started ; his eyes shot fire ; his breast heaved. 

^ Leave us, Edith,’ said Hilda, in a low voice ; and after 
watching her grandchild’s slow reluctant steps descend the 
knoll, she turned to Harold, and leading him towards the 
gravestone of the Saxon chief, said — 

^ Rememberest thou the spectre that rose from this 
mound ? — rememberest thou the dream that followed it ? ’ 

^The spectre or deceit of mine eye, I remember well,’ 
answered the Earl ; ^ the dream, not ; — or only in confused 
and jarring fragments.’ 

^ I told thee then, that I could not unriddle the dream 
by the light of the moment ; and that the dead who slept 
below never appeared to men, save for some portent of 
doom to the house of Cerdic. The portent is fulfilled ; the 
Heir of Cerdic is no more. To whom appeared the great 
Scin-laeca, but to him who shall lead a new race of Kings to 
the Saxon throne ! ’ 

Harold breathed hard, and the colour mounted bright and 
glowing to his cheek and brow. 

cannot gainsay thee, Vala. Unless, despite all con- 
jecture, Edward should be spared to earth till the Atheling’s 
infant son acquires the age when bearded men will acknow- 
ledge a chief, I look round in England for the coming king, 
and all England reflects but mine own image.’ 

His head rose erect as he spoke, and already the brow 
seemed august, as if circled by the diadem of the Basileus. 

^ And if it be so,’ he added, accept that solemn trust, 
and England shall grow greater in my greatness.’ 

^ The flame breaks at last from the smouldering fuel,’ cried 
the Vala, ^ and the hour 1 so long foretold to thee hath come !’ 


HAROLD 


1G3 


Harold answered not, for high and kindling emotions 
deafened him to all but the voice of a grand ambition, and 
the awakening joy of a noble heart. 

^ And then — and then,’ he exclaimed, ^ I shall need no 
mediator between nature and monkcraft ; — then, O Edith, 
the life thou hast saved will indeed be thine ! ’ He paused, 
and it was a sign of the change that an ambition long re- 
pressed, but now rushing into the vent legitimately open 
to it, had already begun to work in the character hitherto 
so self-reliant, when he said in a low voice, ‘ But that dream 
which has so long lain locked, not lost, in my mind ; that 
dream of which I recall only vague remembrances of danger 
yet defiance, trouble yet triumph — canst thou unriddle it, 
O Vala, into auguries of success.^’ 

' Harold,’ answered Hilda, ^ thou didst hear at the close 
of thy dream, the music of the hymns that are chanted at 
the crowning of a king — and a crowned king shalt thou be ; 
yet fearful foes shall assail thee — foreshown in the shapes of 
the lion and raven, that came in menace over the blood-red 
sea. The two stars in the heaven betoken that the day of 
thy birth was also the birth-day of a foe, whose star is fatal 
to thine ; and they warn thee against a battle-field, fought 
on the day when those stars shall meet. Farther than this 
the mystery of thy dream escapes from my lore ; — wouldst 
thou learn thyself, from the phantom that sent the dream ; 
— stand by my side at the grave of the Saxon hero, and I 
will summon the Scin-laeca to counsel the living. For what 
to the Vala the dead may deny, the soul of the brave on the 
brave may bestow ! ’ 

Harold listened with a serious and musing attention, 
which his pride or his reason had never before accorded 
to the warnings of Hilda. But his sense was not yet 
fascinated by the voice of the charmer, and he answered 
with his wonted smile, so sweet, yet so haughty — 

^ A hand outstretched to a crown should be armed for the 
foe ; and the eye that would guard the living should not be 
dimmed by the vapours that encircle the dead.’ 


CHAPTER V 

But from that date changes, slight, yet noticeable and im- 
portant, were at work both in the conduct and character of 
the great Earl. 

Hitherto he had advanced on his career without calcula- 


104 


HAROLD 


tion; and nature, not policy, had achieved his power. 
But henceforth he began thoughtfully to cement the founda- 
tions of his House, to extend the area, to strengthen the 
props. Policy now mingled with the justice that had made 
him esteemed, and the generosity that had won him love. 
Before, though by temper conciliatory, yet, through 
honesty, indifferent to the enmities he provoked, in his 
adherence to what his conscience approved, he now laid 
himself out to propitiate all ancient feuds, soothe all 
jealousies, and convert foes into friends. He opened con- 
stant and friendly communication with his uncle Sweyn, 
King of Denmark ; he availed himself sedulously of all the 
influence over the Anglo-Danes which his mother’s birth 
made so facile. He strove also, and wisely, to conciliate 
the animosities which the church had cherished against 
Godwin’s house : he concealed his disdain of the monks 
and monkridden : he showed himself the Church’s patron 
and friend ; he endowed largely the convents, and especi- 
ally one at Waltham, which had fallen into decay, though 
favourably known for the piety of its brotherhood. But if 
in this he played a part not natural to his opinions, Harold 
could not, even in simulation, administer to evil. The 
monasteries he favoured were those distinguished for 
purity of life, for benevolence to the poor, for bold denun- 
ciation of the excesses of the great. He had not, like the 
Norman, the grand design of creating in the priesthood a 
college of learning, a school of arts ; such notions were 
unfamiliar in homely, unlettered England. And Harold, 
though for his time and his land no mean scholar, would 
have recoiled from favouring a learning always made sub- 
servient to Rome ; always at once haughty and scheming, 
and aspiring to complete domination over both the souls 
of men and the thrones of kings. But his aim was, out of 
the elements he found in the natural kindliness existing 
between Saxon priest and Saxon flock, to rear a modest, 
virtuous, homely clergy, not above tender sympathy with 
an ignorant population. He selected as examples for his 
monastery at Waltham, two low-born humble brothers, 
Osgood and Ailred ; the one known for the courage with 
which he had gone through the land, preaching to abbot 
and thegn the emancipation of the theowes, as the most 
meritorious act the safety of the soul could impose; the 
other, who, originally a clerk, had, according to the 
common custom of the Saxon clergy, contracted the bonds 
of marriage, and with some eloquence had vindicated that 
custom against the canons of Rome, and refused the offer 
of large endowments and thegn’s rank to put away his 


HAROLD 


165 


wife. But oil the death of that spouse, he had adopted 
the cowl, and while still persisting in the lawfulness of 
marriage to the unmonastic clerks, had become famous for 
denouncing the open concubinage which desecrated the 
holy office, and violated the solemn vows, of many a proud 
prelate and abbot. 

To these two men (both of w hom refused the abbacy of 
Waltham) Harold committed the charge of selecting the 
new brotherhood established there. And the monks of 
Waltham were honoured as saints throughout the neigh- 
bouring district, and cited as examples to all the Church. 

But though in themselves the new politic arts of Harold 
seemed blameless enough, arts they were, and as such they 
corrupted the genuine simplicity of his earlier nature. He 
had conceived for the first time an ambition apart from that 
of service to his country. It was no longer only to serve 
the land, it w’as to serve it as its ruler, that animated his 
heart and coloured his thoughts. Expediences began to 
dim to his conscience the healthful loveliness of Truth. 
And now^, too, gradually, that empire which Hilda had 
gained over his brother Sweyn, began to sway this man, 
heretofore so strong in his sturdy sense. The future became 
to him a dazzling mystery, into which his conjectures 
plunged themselves more and more. He had not yet stood 
in the Runic circle and invoked the dead ; but the spells 
were around his heart, and in his own soul had grown up 
the familiar demon. 

Still Edith reigned alone, if not in his thoughts at least 
in his affections ; and perhaps it was the hope of conquer- 
ing all obstacles to his marriage that mainly induced him 
to propitiate the Church, through whose agency the object 
he sought must be attained ; and still that hope gave the 
brightest lustre to the distant crown. But he who admits 
Ambition to the companionship of Love, admits a giant that 
outstrides the gentler footsteps of its comrade. 

Harold’s brow lost its benign calm. He became thought- 
ful and abstracted. He consulted Edith less, Hilda more. 
Edith seemed to him now not wise enough to counsel. 
The smile of his Fylgia, like the light of the star upon a 
stream, lit the surface, but could not pierce to the deep. 

Meanwhile, however, the policy of Harold throve and 
prospered. He had already arrived at that height, that 
the least effort to make power popular redoubled its extent. 
Gradually all voices swelled the chorus in his praise ; 
gradually men became familiar to the question. ^ If Edward 
dies before Edgar, the grandson of Ironsides, is of age to 
succeed, where can w^e find a king like Harold ? * 


1G6 


HAROLD 


111 the midst of this quiet but deepening sunshine of his 
fate, there burst a storm, which seemed destined either to 
darken his day or to disperse every cloud from the horizon. 
Algar, the only possible rival to his power — the only oppo- 
nent no arts could soften— Algar, whose hereditary name 
endeared him to the Saxon laity, whose father’s most 
powerful legacy was the love of the Saxon Church, whose 
martial and turbulent spirit had only the more elevated 
him in the esteem of the warlike Danes in East Anglia 
(the earldom in which he had succeeded Harold), by his 
father’s death, lord of the great principality of Mercia — 
availed himself of that new power to break out again into 
rebellion. Again he was outlawed, again he leagued with 
the fiery Gryffyth. All Wales was in revolt ; the Marches 
were invaded and laid waste. Rolf, the feeble Earl of 
Hereford, died at this critical juncture, and the Normans 
and hirelings under him mutinied against other leaders ; a 
fleet of vikings from Norway ravaged the western coasts, 
and sailing up the Menai, joined the ships of Gryffyth, and 
the whole empire seemed menaced with dissolution, when 
Edward issued his Herr-bann, and Harold at the head of the 
royal armies marched on the foe. 

Dread and dangerous were those defiles of W ales ; amidst 
them had been foiled or slaughtered all the warriors under 
Rolf the Norman ; no Saxon armies had won laurels in the 
Cymrian’s own mountain home within the memory of man ; 
nor had any Saxon ships borne the palm from the terrible 
vikings of Norway. Fail, Harold, and farewell the crown ! 
— succeed, and thou hast on thy side the ultimam rationem 
regum (the last argument of kings), the heart of the army 
over which thou art chief. 


CHAPTER VI 

It was one day in the height of summer that two horsemen 
rode slowly, and conversing with each other in friendly wise, 
notwithstanding an evident difference of rank and of nation, 
through the lovely country which formed the Marches of 
Wales. The younger of these men was unmistakably a 
Norman ; his cap only partially covered the head, which 
was shaven from the crown to the nape of the neck, while 
in front the hair, closely cropped, curled short and thick 
round a haughty but intelligent brow. His dress fitted 
close to his shape, and was worn M'ithout mantle ; his 


HAROLD 


167 

leggings were curiously crossed in the fashion of a tartan, 
and on his heels were spurs of gold. He was wholly un- 
armed ; but behind him and his companion, at a little 
distance, his war horse, completely caparisoned, was led by 
a^ single squire, mounted on a good Norman steed ; while 
six Saxon theowes, themselves on foot, conducted three 
sumpter-mules, somewhat heavily laden, not only with the 
armour of the Norman knight, but panniers containing rich 
robes, wines, and provender. At a few paces farther behind, 
marched a troop, light-armed, in tough hides, curiously 
tanned, with axes swung over their shoulders, and bows in 
their hands. 

Tlie companion of the knight w as as evidently a Saxon, 
as the knight was unequivocally a Norman. His square, 
short features, contrasting the oval visage and aquiline 
profile of his close-shaven comrade, were half concealed 
beneath a bushy beard and immense moustache. His tunic, 
also, was of hide, and, tightened at the waist, fell loose 
to his knee; while a kind of cloak, fastened to the right 
shoulder by a large round button or brooch, flowed behind 
and in front, but left both arms free. His cap differed in 
shape from the Norman’s, being round and full at the sides, 
somewhat in shape like a turban. His bare, brawny throat 
was curiously punctured with sundry devices, and a verse 
from the Psalms. 

His countenance, though without the high and haughty 
brow, and the acute, observant eye of his comrade, had a 
pride and intelligence of its own — a pride somewhat sullen, 
and an intelligence somewhat slow. 

^My good friend, Sexwolf,’ quoth the Norman in very 
tolerable Saxon, ^ I pray you not so to misesteem us. After 
all, we Normans are of your own race : our fathers spoke 
the same language as yours.’ 

^ Tliat may be,’ said the Saxon, bluntly, ^ and so did the 
Danes, with little diflFerence, when they burned our houses 
and cut our throats.’ 

^ Old tales, those,’ replied the knight, ^ and I thank thee 
for the comparison; for the Danes, thou seest are now 
settled amongst ye, peaceful subjects and quiet men, and 
in a few generations it w ill be hard to guess who comes from 
Saxon, who from Dane.’ 

^We waste time, talking such matters,’ returned the 
Saxon, feeling himself instinctively no match in argument 
for his lettered companion ; and seeing, with his native 
strong sense, that some ulterior object, though he guessed 
not what, lay hid in the conciliatory language of his com- 
panion ; ^ nor do I believe, Master Mallet or Gravel — forgive 


168 


HAROLD 


me if I miss of the right forms to address you — that Norman 
will ever love Saxon, or Saxon Norman ; so let us cut our 
words short. There stands the convent, at which you would 
like to rest and refresh yourself.’ 

The Saxon pointed to a low, clumsy building of timber, 
forlorn and decayed, close by a rank marsh, over which 
swarmed gnats, and all foul animalcules. 

Mallet de Graville, for it was he, shrugged his shoulders, 
and said, with an air of pity and contempt — 

would, friend Sexwolf, that thou couldst but see the 
houses we build to God and his saints in our Normandy ; 
fabrics of stately stone, on the fairest sites. Our Countess 
Matilda hath a notable taste for the masonry ; and our 
workmen are the brethren of Lombardy, who know all the 
mysteries thereof.’ 

pray thee, Dan-Norman,’ cried the Saxon, ^not to put 
such ideas into the soft head of King Edward. We pay 
enow for the Church, though built but of timber ; saints 
help us indeed, if it were builded of stone ! ’ 

The Norman crossed himself, as if he had heard some 
signal impiety, and then said — 

^Thou lovest not Mother Church, worthy Sexwolf?’ 

was brought up,’ replied the sturdy Saxon, ^to work 
and sweat hard, and I love not the lazy who devour my 
substance, and say, ^^the saints gave it them.” Knowest 
thou not. Master Mallet, that one-third of all the lands of 
England is in the hands of the priests ? ’ 

^ Hem ! ’ said the acute Norman, who, with all his de- 
votion, could stoop to wring worldly advantage from each 
admission of his comrade ; ^ then in this merrie England ot 
thine, thou hast still thy grievances and cause of complaint?’ 

^Yea, indeed, and I trow it,’ quoth the Saxon, even in 
that day a grumbler; ^but I take it, the main difference 
between thee and me is, that I can say what mislikes me 
out like a man ; and it would fare ill with thy limbs or 
thy life if thou wert as frank in the grim land of thy 
heretoghJ 

^ Now, Notre Dame stop thy prating,* said the Norman, in 
high disdain, while his brow frowned and his eye sparkled. 
'Strong judge and great captain as is William the Norman, 
his barons and knights hold their heads high in his presence, 
and not a grievance weighs on the heart that we give not 
out with the lip.’ 

' So have I heard,’ said the Saxon, chuckling ; ' I have 
heard, indeed, that ye thegns, or great men, are free enow, 
and plain-spoken. But what of the commons — the six- 
haendmen, and the ceorls, master Norman? Dare they 


HAROLD - 


169 


speak as we speak of king and of law, of tliegn and of 
captain ? ’ 


The Norman wisely curbed the scornful ^ No, indeed/ that 
rushed to his lips, and said, all sweet and debonair — 

^Each land hath its customs, dear Sexwolf: and if the 
Norman were king of England, he would take the laws as 
he finds them, and the ceorls would be as safe with William 
as Edward.’ 

* The Norman, king of England ! ’ cried the Saxon, redden- 
ing to the tips of his great ears. ^ What dost thou babble of, 
stranger The Norman ! — How could that ever be ? ’ 

^ Nay, I did but suggest — but suppose such a case,’ replied 
the knight, still smothering his wrath. ^ And why thinkest 
thou the conceit so outrageous ? Thy king is childless ; 
William is his next of kin, and dear to him as a brother ; 

and if Edward did leave him the throne ’ 

^ The throne is for no man to leave,’ almost roared the 
Saxon. ^Thinkest thou the people of England are like 
cattle and sheep, and chattels and theowes, to be left by 
will, as man fancies.^ The king’s wish has its weight, no 
doubt, but the Witan hath its yea or its nay, and the Witan 
and Commons are seldom at issue thereon. Thy duke king 
of England ! Marry ! Ha ! ha ! ’ 

^ Brute ! ’ muttered the knight to himself ; then adding 
aloud, with his old tone of irony (now much habitually 
subdued by years and discretion), ‘ Why takest thou so the 
part of the ceorls ? thou a captain, and wellnigh a thegn ! ’ 

^ I was born a ceorl, and my father before me,’ returned 
Sexwolf, ‘ and I feel with my class ; though my grandson 
may rank with the thegns, and, for aught I know, with 
the earls.’ 

The Sire de Graville involuntarily drew off from the 
Saxon’s side, as if made suddenly aware that he had grossly 
demeaned himself in such unwitting familiarity with a ceorl, 
and a ceorl’s son ; and he said with a much more careless 
accent and lofty port than before — 

^ Good man, thou wert a ceorl, and now thou leadest Earl 
Harold’s men to the war ! How is this ? I do not quite 
comprehend it.’ 

^How shouldst thou, poor Norman.?’ replied the Saxon, 
compassionately. ^ The tale is soon told. Know that when 
Harold our Earl was banished, and his lands taken, we his 
ceorls helped with his sixhaendman, Clapa, to purchase his 
land, nigh by London, and the house wherein thou didst 
find me, of a stranger, thy countryman, to whom they were 
lawlessly given. And we tilled the land, we tended the 
herds, and we kept the house till the Earl came back.’ 


170 


HAROLD 


^Yeliad moneys then, moneys of your own, ye ceorls ! ' 
said the Norman, avariciously. 

^ How else could we buy our freedom ? Every ceorl hath 
some hours to himself to employ to his profit, and can lay 
by for his own ends. Tliese savings we gave up for our Earl, 
and when the Earl came back, he gave the sixhaendman 
hydes of land enow to make him a thegn ; and he gave the 
ceorls who had holpen Clapa, their freedom and broad 
shares of his boc-land, and most of them now hold their owui 
ploughs and feed their own herds. But I loved the Earl 
(having no wife) better than swine and glebe, and I prayed 
liim to let me serve him in arms. And so I have risen, as 
with us ceorls can rise.’ 

am answered,’ said Mallet de Graville, thoughtfully, 
and still somewhat perplexed. ^ But these theowes (they are 
slaves) never rise. It cannot matter to them whether shaven 
Norman or bearded Saxon sit on the throne ? ’ 

^ Thou art right there,’ answ ered the Saxon ; ^ it matters 
as little to them as it doth to thy thieves and felons, for 
many of them are felons and thieves, or the children of 
such ; and most of those who are not, it is said, are not 
Saxons, but the barbarous folks whom the Saxons subdued. 
No, wretched things, and scarce men, they care nought for 
the land. Howbeit, even they are not without hope, for the 
Church takes their part ; and that, at least, I for one, think 
Church-worthy,’ added the Saxon with a softened eye. 
^ And every abbot is bound to set free three theowes on his 
lands, and few who own theowes die without freeing some 
by their will ; so that the sons of theow'es may be thegns, 
and thegns some of them are at this day.’ 

^ Marvels ! ’ cried the Norman. ^ But surely they bear a 
stain and stigma, and their fellow-thegns flout them } ’ 

^ Not a whit — why so ? land is land, money money. Little, 
I trow, care we what a man’s father may have been, if the 
man himself hath his ten hydes or more of good boc-land.’ 

^Ye value land and the moneys,’ said the Norman; ^so do 
we, but we value more name and birth.’ 

^ Ye are still in your leading-strings, Norman,’ replied 
the Saxon, w’axing good-humoured in his contempt. ^We 
have an old saying and a wise one, All come from Adam 
except Tib the ploughman ; but when Tib grows rich, all 
call him ‘^dear brother.’” ’ 

^ With such pestilent notions,’ quoth the Sire de Graville, 
no longer keeping temper, ‘ I do not wonder that our fathers 
of Norway and Daneland beat ye so easily. The love for 
things ancient — creed, lineage, and name, is better steel 
against the stranger, than your smiths ever welded.’ 


HAROLD 


171 


Therewith, and not waiting for Sexwolf ’s reply, he clapped 
spurs to his palfrey, and soon entered the courtyard of the 
convent. 

A monk of the order of St. Benedict, then most in favour, 
ushered the noble visitor into the cell of the Abbot ; who, 
after gazing at him a moment in wonder and delight, clasped 
him to his breast and kissed him heartily on brow and cheek. 

^Ah, Guillaume,’ he exclaimed in the Norman tongue, 
'this is indeed a grace for which to sing Jubilate. Thou 
canst not guess how welcome is the face of a countryman in 
this horrible land of ill-cooking and exile.’ 

'Talking of grace, my dear father, and food,’ said de 
Graville, loosening the cincture of the tight vest which 
gave him the shape of a wasp — for even at that early period, 
small waists were in vogue with the warlike fops of the 
French Continent — 'talking of grace, the sooner thou sayest 
it over some friendly refection, the more will the Latin 
sound unctuous and musical. I have journeyed since day- 
break, and am now hungered and faint.’ 

' Alack, alack ! ’ cried the Abbot, plaintively, ' thou 
knowest little, my son, what hardships we endure in these 
parts, how larded our larders, and how nefarious our fare, 
'file flesh of swine salted ’ 

'The flesh of Beelzebub,’ cried Mallet de Graville, aghast. 
'But comfort thee, 1 have stores on my sumpter-mules — 
poulardes and fishes, and other not despicable comestibles, 
and a few' flasks of w ine, not pressed, laud the saints ! from 
the vines of this country : wherefore, wilt thou see to it, and 
instruct thy cooks how to season the cheer ? ’ 

'No cooks have I to trust to,’ replied the Abbot; 'of 
cooking know they here as much as of Latin ; nathless, I 
will go and do my best with the stew-pans. Meanwhile, 
thou wilt at least have rest and the bath. For the Saxons, 
even in their convents, are a clean race, and learned the 
bath from the Dane.’ 

'Tliat I have noted,’ said the knight, 'for even at the 
smallest house at which I have lodged in my way from 
London, the host hath courteously offered me the bath, and 
the hostess linen curious and fragrant ; and to say truth, 
the poor people are hospitable and kind, despite their 
uncouth hate of the foreigner ; nor is their meat to be 
despised, plentiful and succulent; but pardex, as thou 
sayest, little helped by the art of dressing. Wherefore, 
my father, I w'ill while the time till the poulardes be roasted, 
and the fish broiled or stewed, by the ablutions thou 
profferest me. I shall tarry with thee some hours, for I have 
much to learn.’ 


172 


HAROLD 


The Abbot then led the Sire de Graville by the hand to 
the cell of honour and guestship^ and having seen that the 
bath prepared was of warmth sufficient — for both Norman 
and Saxon (hardy men as they seem to us from afar) so 
shuddered at the touch of cold water, that a bath of natural 
temperature (as well as a hard bed) was sometimes imposed 
as a penance — the good father went his way, to examine 
the sumpter-mules, and admonish the much suffering and 
bewildered lay-brother who officiated as cook — and who, 
speaking neither Norman nor Latin, scarce made out one 
word in ten of his superior’s elaborate exhortations. 

Mallet’s squire, with a change of raiment, and goodly 
coffers of soaps, unguents, and odours, took his way to the 
knight, for a Norman of birth was accustomed to much 
personal attendance, and had all respect for the body ; and 
it was nearly an hour before, in a long gown of fur, reshaven, 
dainty, and decked, the Sire de Graville bowed, and sighed, 
and prayed before the refection set out in the Abbot’s 
cell. 

The two Normans, despite the sharp appetite of the lay- 
man, ate with great gravity and decorum, drawing forth the 
morsels served to them on spits with silent examination ; 
seldom more than tasting, with looks of patient dissatisfac- 
tion, each of the comestibles ; sipping rather than drinking, 
nibbling rather than devouring, washing their fingers in 
rose-water with nice care at the close, and waving them 
afterwards gracefully in the air, to allow the moisture some- 
what to exhale before they wiped off the lingering dews with 
their napkins. Tlien they exchanged looks and sighed in 
concert, as if recalling the polished manners of Normandy, 
still retained in that desolate exile. And their temperate 
meal thus concluded, dishes, wines, and attendants vanished, 
and their talk commenced. 

^ How earnest thou in England ? * asked the Abbot, 
abruptly. 

^ Sauf your reverence,’ answered De Graville, ^ not wholly 
for reasons different from those that bring thee hither. 
\Vlien, after the death of that truculent and orgulous God- 
win, King Edward entreated Harold to let him have back 
some of his dear Norman favourites, thou, then little pleased 
with the plain fare and sharp discipline of the convent of 
Bee, didst pray Bishop William of London to accompany 
such train as Harold, moved by his poor king’s supplication, 
was pleased to permit. The Bishop consented, and thou 
wert enabled to change monk’s cowl for abbot’s mitre. In 
a word, ambition brought thee to England, and ambition 
brings me hither.’ 


HAROLD 


173 

^Hem ! and how? Mayst thou thrive better than I in 
this swine-stye ! ’ 

'You remember/ renewed De Graville, 'that Lanfranc, the 
Lombard, was pleased to take interest in my fortunes, then 
not the most flourishing, and after his return from Rome, 
with the Pope’s dispensation for Count William’s marriage 
with his cousin, he became AYilliam’s most trusted adviser. 
Both William and Lanfranc were desirous to set an example 
of learning to our Latinless nobles, and therefore my scholar- 
ship found grace in their eyes. In brief — since then I have 
prospered and thriven. I have fair lands by the Seine, free 
from clutch of merchant or Jew. I have founded a convent, 
and slain some hundreds of Breton marauders. Need I say 
that I am in high favour ? Now it so chanced that a cousin 
of mine, Hugo de Magnaville, a brave lance and franc-rider, 
chanced to murder his brother in a little domestic alFray, 
and, being of conscience tender and nice, the deed preyed 
on him, and he gave his lands to Odo of Bayeux, and set 
off to Jerusalem. There, having prayed at the tomb’ (the 
knight crossed himself), ' he felt at once miraculously cheered 
and relieved ; but, journeying back, mishaps befell him. 
He was made slave by some infidel, to one of whose wives 
he sought to be gallant, par amours, and only escaped at 
last by setting fire to paynim and prison. Now, by the aid 
of the Virgin, he has got back to Rouen, and holds his own 
land again in fief from proud Odo, as a knight of the Bishop’s. 
It so happened that, passing homeward through Lycia, before 
these misfortunes befell him, he made friends with a fellow- 
pilgrim who had just returned, like himself, from the Sepul- 
chre, but not lightened, like him, of the load of his crime. 
This poor palmer lay broken-hearted and dying in the hut 
of an eremite, where my cousin took shelter ; and, learning 
that Hugo was on his way to Normandy, he made himself 
known as Sweyn, the once fair and proud Earl of England, 
eldest son to old Godwin, and father to Haco, whom our 
Count still holds as a hostage. He besought Hugo to inter- 
cede with the Count for Haco’s speedy release and return, 
if King Edward assented thereto ; and charged my cousin, 
moreover, with a letter to Harold, his brother, which Hugo 
undertook to send over. By good luck, it so chanced that, 
through all his sore trials, cousin Hugo kept safe round his 
neck a leaden effigy of the Virgin. The infidels disdained 
to rob him of lead, little dreaming the worth which the 
sanctity gave to the metal. To the back of the image Hugo 
fastened the letter, and so, though somewhat tattered and 
damaged, he had it still with him on arriving in Rouen. 

'Knowing, then, my grace with the Count, and not. 


174 


HAROLD 


despite absolution and pilgrimage, much willing to trust 
himself in the presence of William, who thinks gravely of 
fratricide, he prayed me to deliver the message, and ask 
leave to send to England the letter/ 

^ It is a long tale,’ quoth the Abbot. 

^ Patience, my father ! I am nearly at the end. Nothing 
more in season could chance for my fortunes. Know that 
William has been long moody and anxious as to matters in 
England. The secret accounts he receives from the Bishop 
of London make him see that Edward’s heart is much 
alienated from him, especially since the Count has had 
daughters and sons ; for, as thou knowest, William and 
Edward both took vows of chastity in youth, and William 
got absolved from his, while Edward hath kept firm to the 
plight. Not long ere my cousin came back, William had 
heard that Edward had acknowledged his kinsman as natural 
heir to his throne. Grieved and troubled at this, >Villiam 
had said in my hearing, ^ Would that amidst yon statues of 
steel, there were some cool head and wise tongue I could 
trust with my interests in England ! and would that I could 
devise fitting plea and excuse for an envoy to Harold the 
Earl ! ’ Much had I mused over these words, and a light- 
hearted man was Mallet de Graville when, with Sweyn’s 
letter in hand, he went to Lanfranc the Abbot and said. 

Patron and father ! thou knowest that I, almost alone of 
the Norman knights, have studied the Saxon language. 
And if the Duke wants messenger and plea, here stands the 
messenger, and in this hand is the plea.” Then I told my 
tale, iknfranc went at once to Duke William. By this 
time, news of the Atheling’s death had arrived, and things 
looked more bright to my liege. Duke William was pleased 
to summon me straightway, and give me his instructions. 
So over the sea I came alone, save a single squire, reached 
London, learned the King and his court were at APinchester 
(but with them I had little to do), and that Harold the Earl 
was at the head of his forces in Wales against Grylfyth the 
Lion King. The Earl had sent in haste for a picked and 
chosen band of his own retainers, on his demesnes near 
the city. These I joined, and learning thy name at the 
monastery at Gloucester, I stopped here to tell thee my 
news and hear thine.’ 

^ Dear brother,’ said the Abbot, looking enviously on the 
knight, ^ would that, like thee, instead of entering the 
Church, I had taken up arms ! Alike once was our lot, 
well born and penniless. Ah me !— Thou art now as the 
swan on the river, and I as the shell on the rock.’ 

^ But,’ quoth the knight, ^ though the canons, it is true, 


HAROLD 


175 


forbid monks to knock people on the head, except in self- 
preservation, thou knowest well that, even in Normandy 
(which, I take it, is the sacred college of all priestly lore, 
on this side the Alps), those canons are deemed too rigorous 
for practice : and, at all events, it is not forbidden thee to 
look on the pastime with sword or mace by thy side in case 
of need. Wherefore, remembering thee in times past, I 
little counted on finding thee — like a slug in thy cell No ; 
but with mail on thy back, the canons clean forgotten, and 
helping stout Harold to sliver and brain these turbulent 
Welchmen.* 

^ Ah me ! ah me ! No such good fortune ! ’ sighed the 
tall Abbot. ^ Little, despite thy former sojourn in London, 
and thy lore of their tongue, knowest thou of these un- 
mannerly Saxons. Rarely indeed do abbot and prelate ride 
to the battle ; and were it not for a huge Danish monk, 
who took refuge here to escape mutilation for robbery, and 
who mistakes the Virgin for a Valkyr, and St. Peter for 
Thor — were it not, I say, that we now and then have a bout at 
sword-play together, my arm would be quite out of practice.’ 

'Cheer thee, old friend,’ said the knight, pityingly, 
'better times may come yet. Meanwhile, now to affairs. 
For all I hear strengthens all William has heard, that 
Harold the Earl is the first man in England. Is it not so ? ’ 

'Truly, and without dispute.’ 

' Is he married, or celibate ? For that is a question which 
even his own men seem to answer equivocally.’ 

' Why, all the wandering minstrels have songs, I am told 
by those who comprehend this poor barbarous tongue, of 
the beauty of Editha pulchra, to whom it is said the Earl 
is betrothed, or it may be worse. But he is certainly not 
married, for the dame is akin to him within the degrees of 
the Church.’ 

' Hem, not married ! that is well ; and this Algar, or 
Elgar, he is not now with the Welch, I hear.’ 

' No ; sore ill at Chester wdth wounds and much chafing, 
for he hath sense to see that his cause is lost. The Nor- 
wegian fleet have been scattered over the seas by the Earl’s 
ships, like birds in a storm. The rebel Saxons who joined 
Gryffyth under Algar have been so beaten, that those who 
survive have deserted their chief, and Gryffyth himself is 
penned up in his last defiles, and cannot much longer resist 
the stout foe, who, by valorous St. Michael, is truly a great 
captain. As soon as Gryffyth is subdued, Algar will be 
crushed in his retreat, like a bloated spider in his web ; and 
then England will have rest, unless our liege, as thou 
hintest, set her to work again.’ 


170 HAROLD 

The Norman knight mused a few moments, before he 

said — . 11 , 

understand, then, that there is no man in the land 
who is peer to Harold not, I suppose, Tostig his brother ? ’ 

^Not Tostig, surely, whom nought but Harold’s repute 
keeps a day in his earldom. But of late — for he is brave 
and skilful in war — he hath done much to command the 
respect, though he cannot win back the love, of his fierce 
Northumbrians, for he hath holpen the Earl gallantly in 
this invasion of Wales, both by sea and by land. But 
Tostig shines only from his brother’s light ; and if Gurth 
were more ambitious, Gurth alone could be Harold’s rival.’ 

The Norman, much satisfied with the information thus 
gleaned from the Abbot, who, despite his ignorance of the 
Saxon tongue, was, like all his countrymen, acute and 
curious, now rose to depart. 'Fhe Abbot, detaining him a 
few moments, and looking at him wistfully, said, in a low 
voice — 

^What, thinkest thou, are Count William’s chances of 
England ? ’ 

^ Good, if he have recourse to stratagem ; sure, if he can 
win Harold.’ 

^ Yet, take my word, the English love not the Normans, 
and will fight stiffly.’ 

* That 1 believe. But if fighting must be, I see that it 
will be the fight of a single battle, for there is neither 
fortress nor mountain to admit of long warfare. And look 
you, my friend, everything here is worn out! The royal 
line is extinct with Edward, save in a child, whom I hear 
no man name as a successor ; the old nobility are gone, 
there is no reverence for old names ; the church is as 
decrepit in the spirit as thy lath monastery is decayed in 
its timbers ; the martial spirit of the Saxon is half rotted 
away in the subjugation to a clergy, not brave and learned, 
but timid and ignorant ; the desire for money eats up all 
manhood ; the people have been accustomed to foreign 
monarchs under the Danes ; and William, once victor, 
would have but to promise' to retain the old laws and 
liberties, to establish himself as firmly as Canute. The 
Anglo-Danes might trouble him somewhat, but rebellion 
would become a weapon in the hands of a schemer like 
William. He would bristle all the land with castles and 
forts, and hold it as a camp. My poor friend, we shall live 
yet to exchange gratulations — thou prelate of some fair 
English see, and I baron of broad English lands.’ 

think thou art right,’ said the tall Abbot, cheerily, 
^ and marry, when the day comes, I will at least fight for 


HAROLD 


177 

the Duke. Yea — thou art right,’ he continued, looking 
round the dilapidated walls of the cell ; ^ all here is worn 
out, and nought can restore the realm, save the Norman 

William, or ’ 

^ Or who ? ’ 

' Or the Saxon Harold. But thou goest to see him — judge 
for thyself.’ 

‘ I will do so, and heedfully,’ said the Sire de Graville ; 
and embracing his friend, he renewed his journey. 


CHAPTER VII 

Messire Mallet de Graville possessed in perfection that 
cunning astuteness vLich characterised the Normans, as it 
did all the old pirate races of the Baltic ; and if, O reader, 
thou, perad venture, shouldst ever in this remote day have 
dealings with the tall men of Ebor or Yorkshire, there wilt 
thou yet find the old Dane-father’s wit — it may be to thy 
cost — more especially if treating for those animals which 
the ancestors ate, and which the sons, without eating, still 
manage to fatten on. 

But though the crafty knight did his best, during his 
progress from London into Wales, to extract from Sex wolf 
all such particulars respecting Harold and his brethren as 
he had reasons for wishing to learn, he found the stubborn 
sagacity or caution of the Saxon more than a match for him. 
Sexwolf had a dog’s instinct in all that related to his master ; 
and he felt, though he scarce knew why, that the Norman 
cloaked some design upon Harold in all the cross-questionings 
so carelessly ventured. And his stiff silence, or bluff replies, 
when Harold was mentioned, contrasted much the unreserve 
of his talk when it turned upon the general topics of the 
day, or the peculiarities of Saxon manners. 

By degrees, therefore, the knight, chafed and foiled, drew 
into himself ; and seeing no further use could be made of 
the Saxon, suffered his own national scorn of villein com- 
panionship to replace his artificial urbanity. He therefore 
rode alone, and a little in advance of the rest, noticing with 
a soldier’s eye the characteristics of the country, and marvel- 
ling, while he rejoiced, at the insignificance of the defences 
w'hich, even on the Marches, guarded the English country 
from the Cymrian ravager. In musings of no very auspicious 
and friendly nature towards the land he thus visited, the 
Norman, on the second day from that in which he had con- 

fli 


178 HAROLD 

versed with the Abbot, found himself amongst the savage 
defiles of North Wales. 

Pausing there in a narrow pass overhung with wild and 
desolate rocks, the knight deliberately summoned his 
squires, clad himself in his ring mail, and mounted his great 
destrier. 

‘ Thou dost wrong, Norman,’ said Sex wolf, ^ thou fatiguest 
thyself in vain — heavy arms here are needless. I have 
fought in this country before : and as for thy steed, thou 
wilt soon have to forsake it, and march on foot.’ 

^Know, friend,’ retorted the knight, ^that I come not 
here to learn the horn-book of war ; and for the rest, know 
also, that a noble of Normandy parts with his life ere he 
forsakes his good steed.’ 

‘^Ye outlanders and Frenchmen,’ said Sexwolf, showing 
the whole of his teeth through his forest of beard, ‘^love 
boast and big talk ; and, on my troth, thou mayest have thy 
belly full of them yet ; for w e are still in the track of Harold, 
and Harold never leaves behind him a foe. Thou art as safe 
here, as if singing psalms in a convent.’ 

^For thy jests, let them pass, courteous sir,’ said the 
Norman ; ^but I pray thee only not to call me Frenchman. 
I impute it to thy ignorance in things comely and martial, 
and not to thy design to insult me. Though my own mother 
was French, learn that a Norman despises a Frank only less 
than he doth a Jew.’ 

^ Crave your grace,’ said the Saxon, ^ but I thought all ye 
outlanders were the same, rib and rib, sibbe and sibbe.’ 

^Tliou wilt know better one of these days. March on, 
master Sexwolf.’ 

The pass gradually opened on a wide patch of rugged and 
herbless waste ; and Sexwolf, riding up to the knight, 
directed his attention to a stone, on which was inscribed the 
words, ^ Hie victor fuit Haroldus / — Here Harold conquered. 

^ In sight of a stone like that, no Walloon dare come,’ 
said the Saxon. 

^A simple and classical trophy,’ remarked the Norman 
complacently, ^ and saith much. 1 am glad to see thy lord 
knows the Latin.’ 

*^1 say not that he knows Latin,’ replied the prudent 
Saxon ; fearing that that could be no wholesome information 
on his lord’s part, which was of a kind to give gladness to 
the Norman — ^Ilide on while the road lets ye — in God’s 
name.’ 

On the confines of Caernarvonshire, the troop halted at 
a small village, round which had been newly dug a deep 
military trench, bristling with palisades, and within its con- 


HAROLD 


179 


fines might be seen — some reclined on the grass^ some at 
dice, some drinking — many men, whose garbs of tanned 
hide, as well as a pennon waving from a little mound in the 
midst, bearing the tiger heads of Earl Harold’s insignia, 
showed them to be Saxons. 

^Here we shall learn,’ said Sexwolf, ^what the Earl is 
about — and here, at present, ends my journey.’ 

^Are these the Earl’s headquarters then? — no castle, 
even of wood — no wall, nought but ditch and palisades?’ 
asked Mallet de Graville in a tone between surprise and 
contempt. 

^ Norman,’ said Sexwolf, ^ the castle is there, though you 
see it not, and so are the walls. The castle is Harold’s 
name, which no Walloon will dare to confront ; and the 
walls are the heaps of the slain which lie in every valley 
around.’ So saying, he wound his horn, which was speedily 
answered, and led the way over a plank which admitted 
across the trench. 

^ Not even a drawbridge ! ’ groaned the knight. 

Sexwolf exchanged a few words with one who seemed the 
head of the small garrison, and then regaining the Norman, 
said, ^The Earl and his men have advanced into the 
mountainous regions of Snowdon ; and there, it is said, the 
blood-lusting Gryffyth is at length driven to bay. Harold 
hath left orders that, after as brief a refreshment as may be, 
I and my men, taking the guide he hath left for us, join him 
on foot. There may now be danger : for though Gryffyth 
himself may be pinned to his heights, he may have yet some 
friends in these parts to start up from crag and combe. The 
w’ay on horse is impassable : wherefore, master Norman, as 
our quarrel is not thine nor thine our lord’s, I commend 
thee to halt here in peace and in safety, with the sick and 
the prisoners.’ 

^ It is a merry companionship, doubtless,’ said the Nor- 
man ; ‘ but one travels to learn, and I would fain see 
somewhat of thine uncivil skirmishings with these men of 
the mountains ; wherefore, as I fear my poor mules are light 
of the provender, give me to eat and to drink. And then 
shalt thou see, should we come in sight of the enemy, if a 
Norman’s big words are the sauce of small deeds.’ 

^Well spoken, and better than I reckoned on,’ said 
Sexwolf heartily. 

While de Graville, alighting, sauntered about the village, 
the rest of the troop exchanged greetings with their country- 
men. It was, even to the warrior’s eye, a mournful scene. 
Here and there, heaps of ashes and ruin — houses riddled 
and burned — the small, humble church, untouched indeed 


180 


HAROLD 


by war, but looking desolate and forlorn — with sheep gra/ang 
on large recent mounds thrown over the brave dead, who 
slept in the ancestral spot they had defended. 

The air was fragrant with the spicy smells of the gale or 
bog myrtle ; and the village lay sequestered in a scene w ild 
indeed and savage, but prodigal of a stern beauty to which 
the Norman, poet by race, and scholar by culture, w^as not 
insensible. Seating himself on a rude stone, apart from all 
the warlike and murmuring groups, he looked forth on the 
dim and vast mountain peaks, and the rivulet that rushed 
below, intersecting the village, and lost amidst copses 
of mountain ash. From these more refined contemplations, 
he was roused by Sexwolf, who, w ith greater courtesy than 
w^as habitual to him, accompanied the theowes who brought 
the knight a repast, consisting of cheese, and small pieces 
of seethed kid, wuth a large horn of very indifferent mead. 

^The Earl puts all his men on Welch diet,’ said the 
captain apologetically. ^For indeed, in this lengthy war- 
fare, nought else is to be had ! ’ 

The knight curiously inspected the cheese, and bent 
earnestly over the kid. 

^ It sufficeth, good Sexwolf,’ said he, suppressing a natural 
sigh. ^But instead of this honey-drink, which is more fit 
for bees than for men, get me a draught of fresh w^ater : 
w^ater is your only safe drink before fighting.’ 

^ Thou hast never drunk ale, then ! ’ said the Saxon ; ^ but 
thy foreign tastes shall be heeded, strange man.’ 

A little after noon, the horns w^ere sounded, and the troop 
prepared to depart. But the Norman observed that they 
had left behind all their horses : and his squire, approaching, 
informed him that Sexwolf had positively forbidden the 
knight’s steed to be brought forth. , 

Was it ever heard before,’ cried Sire Mallet de Graville, 

^ that a Norman knight was expected to walk, and to walk 
against a foe too ! Call hither the villein — that is, the 
captain.’ 

But Sexwolf himself here appeared, and to him De Gra- 
ville addressed his indignant remonstrance. Tlie Saxon 
stood firm, and to each argument replied simply, ^ It is the 
Earl’s orders’ ; and finally wound up with a bluff — ^Go or 
let alone : stay here with thy horse, or march w ith us on 
thy feet.’ 

^My horse is a gentleman,’ answered the knight, ^and, as 
such, would be my more fitting companion. But as it is, I 
yield to compulsion — I bid thee solemnly observe, by com- 
pulsion; so that it may never be said of William Mallet 
de Graville, that he walked, bo?i gre, to battle.’ M^ith that. 


HAROLD 


181 


he loosened liis sword in the sheath^ and^ still retaining his 
ring mail, fitting close as a shirt, strode on with the rest. 

A Welch guide, subject to one of the Under-kings (who 
was in allegiance to England, and animated, as many of 
those petty chiefs were, with a vindictive jealousy against 
the rival tribe of Gryffyth, far more intense than his dislike 
of the Saxon) led the way. 

Tlie road wound for some time along the course of the 
river Conway ; Penmaen-mawr loomed before them. Not 
a human being came in sight, not a goat was seen on the 
distant ridges, not a sheep on the pastures. The solitude in 
the glare of the broad August sun was oppressive. Some 
houses they passed — if buildings of rough stones, containing 
but a single room, can be called houses — but they were 
deserted. Desolation preceded their way, for they were on 
the track of Harold the Victor. At length, they passed the 
old Conovium, now Caer-hen, lying low near the river. 
There were still (not as we now scarcely discern them, after 
centuries of havoc) the mighty ruins of the Romans — vast 
shattered walls, a tower half demolished, visible remnants of 
gigantic baths, and, proudly rising near the present ferry of 
’'ral-y-Cafn, the fortress, almost unmutilated, of Castell-y- 
Bryn. On the castle waved the pennon of Harold. Many 
large flat-bottomed boats were moored to the river-side, and 
the whole place bristled with spears and javelins. 

Much comforted (for — though he disdained to murmur, 
and rather than forego his mail, would have died therein a 
martyr — Mallet de Graville was mightily wearied by the 
weight of his steel), and hoping now to see Harold himself, 
the knight sprang forward with a spasmodic effort at liveli- 
ness, and found himself in the midst of a group, among 
whom he recognised at a glance his old acquaintance, 
Godrith. Doffing his helm with its long nose-piece, he 
caught the thegn’s hand, and exclaimed — 

^ W ell met, ventre de Guillaume ! well met, O Godree the 
debonair ! Thou rememberest Mallet de Graville, and in 
this unseemly guise, on foot, and with villeins, sweating 
under the eyes of plebeian Phoebus, thou beholdest that 
much suffering man ! ’ 

^ Welcome indeed,’ returned Godrith, with some embarrass- 
ment ; ‘ but how earnest thou hither, and whom seekest thou.^’ 

^ Harold, thy Count, man — and I trust he is here.’ 

^ Not so, but not far distant — at a place by the mouth of 
the river called Caer Gyffin. Thou shalt take boat, and be 
there ere the sunset.’ 

^ Is a battle at hand } Yon churl disappointed and tricked 
me ; he promised me danger, and not a soul have we met,’ 


182 


HAROLD 


^ Harold’s besom sweeps clean/ answered Godrith, smiling. 
^But thou art like, perhaps, to he in at the death. We 
have driven this Welch lion to bay at last — He is ours, or 
grim Famine’s. Look yonder ’ ; and Godrith pointed to the 
heights of Penmaen-mawr. ^ Even at this distance, you may 
yet descry something grey and dim against the sky.’ 

^ Deemest thou my eye so ill practised in siege, as not to 
see towers ? Tall and massive they are, though they seem 
here as airy as masts, and as dwarfish as landmarks.’ 

^On that hill-top, and in those towers, is Grylfyth, the 
Welch king, with the last of his force. He cannot escape 
us ; our ships guard all the coasts of the shore ; our troops, 
as here, surround every pass. Spies, night and day, keep 
watch. The Welch moels (or beacon-rocks) are manned by 
our warders. And, were the Welch King to descend, 
signals would blaze from post to post, and gird him with fire 
and sword. From land to land, from hill to hill, from 
Hereford to Caerleon, from Caerleon to Milford, from Mil- 
ford to Snowdon, through Snowdon to yonder fort, built, 
they say, by the fiends or the giants — through defile and 
through forest, over rock, through morass, we have pressed 
on his heels. Battle and foray alike have drawn the blood 
from his heart ; and thou wilt have seen the drops yet red 
on the way, where the stone tells that Harold was victor.’ 

^ A brave man and true king, then, this Grylfyth,’ said the 
Norman, with some admiration ; ^ but,’ he added in a colder 
tone, ^ I confess, for my own part, that though I pity the 
valiant man beaten, I honour the brave man who wins ; and 
though I have seen but little of this rough land as yet, I can 
well judge from what I have seen, that no captain, not of 
patience unwearied, and skill most consummate, could con- 
quer a bold enemy in a country where every rock is a fort.’ 

^ So I fear,’ answered Godrith, ^ that thy countryman Rolf 
found ; for the Welch beat him sadly, and the reason was 
plain. He insisted on using horses where no horses could 
climb, and attiring men in full armour to fight against men 
light and nimble as swallows, that skim the earth, then are 
lost in the clouds. Harold, more wise, turned our Saxons 
into Welchmen, flying as they flew, climbing where they 
climbed ; it has been as a war of the birds. And now there 
rests but the eagle, in his last lonely eyrie.’ 

' Thy battles have improved thy eloquence much, Messire 
Godree,’ said the Norman condescendingly. ^ Nevertheless, 
I cannot but think a few light horse ’ 

^ Could scale yon mountain-brow.?’ said Godrith, laughing, 
and pointing to Penmaen-mawr. 

The Norman looked and was silent, though he thought to 
himself, ^ That Sexwolf was no such dolt, after all ! ’ 


BOOK VII 


THE WELCH KING 

CHAPTER I 

The sun had just cast its last beams over the breadth of water 
into which Conway, or rather Cyn-wy, ^the great river,’ 
emerges its winding waves. Not at that time existed the 
matchless castle, which is now the monument of Edward 
Plantagenet, and the boast of Wales. But besides all the 
beauty the spot took from nature, it had even some claim 
from ancient art. A rude fortress rose above the stream of 
Gyffin, out of the wrecks of some greater Roman hold, and 
vast ruins of a former town lay round it ; while opposite the 
fort, on the huge and ragged promontory of Gogarth, might 
still be seen, forlorn and grey, the wrecks of the imperial 
city, destroyed ages before by lightning. 

All these remains of a power and a pomp that Rome in 
vain had bequeathed to the Briton, were full of pathetic and 
solemn interest, when blent with the thought, that on yonder 
steep, the brave prince of a race of heroes, whose line tran- 
scended, by ages, all the other royalties of the North, awaited, 
amidst the ruins of man, and in the stronghold which nature 
yet gave, the hour of his doom. 

But these were not the sentiments of the martial and 
observant Norman, with the fresh blood of a new race of 
conquerors. 

^In this land,’ thought he, ^far more even than in that of 
the Saxon, there are the ruins of old ; and when the present 
can neither maintain nor repair the past, its future is subjec- 
tion or despair.’ 

Agreeably to the peculiar usages of Saxon military skill, 
which seems to have placed all strength in dykes and ditches, 
as being perhaps the cheapest and readiest outworks, a new 
trench had been made round the fort, on two sides, con- 
necting it on the third and fourth with the streams of Gyffin 

183 


184 


HAROLD 


and the Conway. But the boat was rowed up to the very 
walls^ and the Norman, springing to land, was soon ushered 
into the presence of the Earl. 

Harold was seated before a rude table ; and bending over 
a rough map of the great mountain of Penmaen ; a lamp of 
iron stood beside the map, though the air was yet clear. 

The Earl rose, as De Graville, entering with the proud 
but easy grace habitual to his countrymen, said, in his best 
Saxon — 

^ Hail to Earl Harold ! William Mallet de Graville, the 
Norman, greets him, and brings him news from beyond the 
seas.’ 

There was only one seat in that bare room — the seat from 
which the Earl had risen. He placed it with simple courtesy 
before his visitor, and, leaning himself against the table, 
said, in the Norman tongue, which he spoke fluently — 

^ It is no slight thanks that I owe to the Sire de Graville, 
that he hath undertaken voyage and journey on my behalf; 
but before you impart your news, I pray you to take rest and 
food.’ 

^ Rest will not be unwelcome ; and food, if unrestricted to 
goats’ cheese and kid-flesh — luxuries new to my palate — 
will not be untempting ; but neither food nor rest can I take, 
noble Harold, before I excuse myself, as a foreigner, for thus 
somewhat infringing your laws by which we are banished, 
and acknowledging gratefully the courteous behaviour I have 
met from thy countrymen notwithstanding.’ 

^ Fair sir,’ answered Harold, ^ pardon us if, jealous of our 
laws, we have seemed inhospitable to those who would meddle 
with them. But the Saxon is never more pleased than when 
the foreigner visits him only as a friend : to the many who 
settle amongst us for commerce — Fleming, Lombard, German, 
and Saracen — we proffer shelter and welcome ; to the few 
who, like thee. Sir Norman, venture over the seas but to 
serve us, we give frank cheer and free hand.’ 

Agreeably surprised at this gracious reception from the son 
of Godwin, the Norman pressed the hand extended to him, 
and then drew forth a small case, and related accurately, and 
with feeling, the meeting of his cousin with Sweyn, and 
Sweyn’s dying charge. 

Tlie Earl listened, with eyes bent on the ground, and face 
turned from the lamp ; and, when Mallet had concluded his 
recital, Harold said, with an emotion he struggled in vain to 
repress — 

thank you cordially, gentle Norman, for kindness 

kindly rendered ! I — I ’ The voice faltered. ^ Sweyn 

was very dear to me in his sorrows | IVe heard that he had 


HAROLD 


185 


died ill Lycia, and grieved much and long. So^ after he had 

thus spoken to your cousin, he — he Alas ! O Sweyn, my 

brother ! ’ 

^ He died,’ said the Norman soothingly ; ^ but shriven and 
absolved ; and my cousin says, calm and hopeful, as they die 
ever who have knelt at the Saviour’s tomb ! ’ 

Harold bowed his head, and turned the case that held the 
letter again and again in his hand, but would not venture to 
open it. The knight himself, touched by a grief so simple 
and manly, rose with the delicate instinct that belongs to 
sympathy, and retired to the door, without which yet waited 
the officer who had conducted him. 

Harold did not attempt to detain him, but followed him 
across the threshold, and briefly commanding the officer to 
attend to his guest as to himself, said — ' With the morning. 
Sire de Graville, we shall meet again ; 1 see that you are one 
to whom I need not excuse man’s natural emotions.’ 

^ A noble presence !’ muttered the knight, as he descended 
the stairs ; ^ but he hath Norman, at least Norse blood in his 
veins on the distaff side. — Fair Sir !’ (this aloud to the 
officer) ^ any meat save the kid-flesh, I pray thee ; and any 
drink save the mead ! ’ 

^ Fear not, guest,’ said the officer ; ‘ for Tostig the Earl 
hath two ships in yon bay, and hath sent us supplies that 
would please Bishop William of London ; for Tostig the 
Earl is a toothsome man.’ 

‘ Commend me, then, to Tostig the Earl,’ said the knight ; 
^he is an earl after my own heart.’ 


CHAPTER II 

On re-entering the room, Harold drew the large bolt across 
the door, opened the case, and took forth the distained and 
tattered scroll : — 

^When this comes to thee, Harold, the brother of thy 
childish days will sleep in the flesh, and be lost to men’s 
judgment and earth’s woe in the spirit. I have knelt at the 
Tomb ; but no dove hath come forth from the cloud — no 
stream of grace hath rebaptized the child of wrath ! They 
tell me now — monk and priest tell me — that I have 
atoned all my sins ; that the dread weregeld is paid ; that I 
may enter the world of men with a spirit free from the load, 
and a name redeemed from the stain. Think so, O brother ! 
—Bid my father (if he still lives, the dear old man !) think 


180 


HAROLD 


so ; — tell Githa to think it ; and oh, teach Haco, my son, to 
hold the belief as a truth ! Harold, again I commend to 
thee my son ; he to him as a father ! My death surely 
releases him as a hostage. Let him not grow up in the court 
of the stranger, in the land of our foes. Let his feet, in his 
youth, climb the green holts of England ; — let his eyes, ere 
sin dims them, drink the blue of her skies ! ^Vlien this shall 
reach thee, thou, in thy calm elFortless strength, wilt be more 
great than Godwin our father. Power came to him with 
travail and through toil, the geld of craft and of force. 
Power is born to thee as strength to the strong man ; it 
gathers around thee as thou movest ; it is not thine aim, it 
is thy nature, to be great. Shield my child with thy might ; 
lead him forth from the prison-house by thy serene right 
hand ! I ask not for lordships and earldoms, as the appanage 
of his father ; train him not to be rival to thee : — I ask but 
for freedom, and English air ! So counting on thee, O 
Harold, I turn my face to the wall, and hush my wild heart 
to peace ! ’ 

The scroll dropped noiseless from Harold’s hand. 

' Thus,’ said he mournfully, ^ hath passed away less a life 
than a dream ! Yet of Sweyn, in our childhood, was Godwin 
most proud ; who so lovely in peace, and so terrible in wrath ? 
My mother taught him the songs of the Baltic, and Hilda 
led his steps through the woodland with tales of hero and 
scald. Alone of our House, he had the gift of the Dane in 
the flow of fierce song, and for him things lifeless had being. 
Stately tree, from which all the birds of heaven sent their 
carol ; where the falcon took roost, whence the mavis flew 
forth in its glee — how art thou blasted and seared, bough 
and core ! — smit by the lightning and consumed by the 
worm !’ 

He paused, and, though none were by, he long shaded his 
brow with his hand. 

^ Now,’ thought he, as he rose and slowly paced the chamber, 
^ now to what lives yet on earth — his son ! Often hath my 
mother urged me in behalf of these hostages ; and often 
have I sent to reclaim them. Smooth and false pretexts have 
met my own demand, and even the remonstrance of Edward 
himself. But surely, now that VYilliam hath permitted this 
Norman to bring over the letter, he will assent to what it 
hath become a wrong and an insult to refuse ; and Haco will 
return to his father’s land, and Wolnoth to his mother’s 
arms,’ 


HAROLD 


187 


CHAPTER III 

Messire Mallet de Graville (as becomes a man bred up to 
arms, and snatching sleep with quick gi-asp whenever that 
blessing be his to command) no sooner laid his head on the 
pallet to which he had been consigned, than his eyes closed, 
and his senses were deaf even to dreams. But at the dead of 
the midnight he was wakened by sounds that might have 
roused the Seven Sleepers — shouts, cries, and yells, the 
blast of horns, the tramp of feet, and the more distant 
roar of hurrying multitudes. He leaped from his bed, and 
the whole chamber was filled with a lurid blood-red air. His 
first thought was, that the fort was on fire. But springing 
upon the settle along the wall, and looking through the loop- 
hole of the tower, it seemed as if not the fort but the whole 
land was one flame, and through the glowing atmosphere he 
beheld all the ground, near and far, swarming with men. 
Hundreds were swimming the rivulet, clambering up dyke 
mounds, rushing on the levelled spears of the defenders, 
breaking through line and palisade, pouring into the en- 
closures ; some in half-armour of helm and corslet — others 
in linen tunics — many almost naked. Loud sharp shrieks of 
^Alleluia !’ blended with those of ^Out ! out ! Holy crosse !’ 
He divined at once that the Welch were storming the Saxon 
hold. Short time indeed sufficed for that active knight to 
case himself in his mail ; and, sword in hand, he burst 
through the door, cleared the stairs, and gained the hall 
below, which was filled with men arming in haste. 

^ Where is Harold ? ’ he exclaimed. 

^On the trenches already,’ answered Sexwolf, buckling 
his corslet of hide. ^This Welch hell hath broke loose.* 

‘ And yon are their beacon fires ? Then the whole land is 
upon us ! ’ 

^ Prate less,’ quoth Sexwolf ; ^ those are the hills now held 
by the warders of Harold : our spies gave them notice, and 
the watch-fires prepared us ere the fiends came in sight, 
otherwise we had been lying here limbless or headless. 
Now, men, draw up, and march forth.’ 

^ Hold ! hold ! ’ cried the pious knight, crossing himself, 
Ms there no priest here to bless us.^ first a prayer and a 
psalm ! ’ 

^ Prayer and psalm ! ’ cried Sexwolf, astonished, ^ an thou 
hadst said ale and mead, I could have understood thee. — 
Out ! Out ! — Holyrood, Holyrood ! ’ 

^ The godless paynims ! ’ ’ muttered the Norman, borne 
away with the crowd. 


188 


HAROLD 


Once in the open space the scene was terrific. Brief as 
had been the onslaught the carnage was already unspeakable. 
By dint of sheer physical numbers, animated by a valour 
that seemed as the frenzy of madmen or the hunger of 
wolves, hosts of the Britons had crossed trench and stream, 
seizing with their hands the points of the spears opposed to 
them, bounding over the corpses of their countrymen, and 
with yells of wild joy rushing upon the close serried lines 
drawn up before the fort. The stream seemed literally 
to run gore ; pierced by javelins and arrows, corpses floated 
and vanished, while numbers, undeterred by the havoc, 
leaped into the waves from the opposite hanks. Like bears 
that surround the ship of a sea-king beneath the polar 
meteors, or the midnight sun of the north, came the savage 
warriors through that glaring atmosphere. 

Amidst all, two forms were pre-eminent : the one, tall 
and towering, stood by the trench, and behind a banner, 
that now drooped round the stave, now streamed wide and 
broad, stirred by the rush of men — for the night in itself 
was breezeless. With a vast Danish axe wielded by both 
hands, stood this man, confronting hundreds, and at each 
stroke, rapid as the levin, fell a foe. All round him was 
a wall of his own — the dead. But in the centre of the 
space, leading on a fresh troop of shouting Welchmen 
who had forced their way from another part, was a form 
which seemed charmed against arrow and spear. For the 
defensive arms of this chief were as slight as if worn but for 
ornament : a small corselet of gold covered only the centre 
of his breast, a gold collar of twisted wires circled his 
throat, and a gold bracelet adorned his bare arm, dropping 
gore, not his own, from the wrist to the elbow. He was 
small and slight-shaped — below the common standard of 
men — but he seemed as one made a giant by the sublime 
inspiration of war. He wore no helmet, merely a golden 
circlet; and his haii*, of deep red (longer than was usual 
with the Welch), hung like the mane of a lion over his 
shoulders, tossing loose with each stride. His eyes glared 
like the tiger’s at night, and he leaped on the spears with 
a bound. Lost a moment amidst hostile ranks, save by the 
swift glitter of his short sword, he made, amidst all, a path 
for himself and his followers, and emerged from the heart 
of the steel unscathed and loud-breathing ; while, round 
the line he had broken, wheeled and closed his wild men, 
striking, rushing, slaying, slain. 

^ Pardex, this is war worth the sharing,’ said the knight. 

' And now, worthy Sexwolf, thou shalt see if the Norman 
is the vaunter thou deemest him. Dieu nous aide! Notre 


I 


HAROLD 189 

Da/wt’/— Take the foe in the rear.’ But turning round, 
he perceived that Sexwolf had already led his men towards 
the standard, wdiich showed them where stood the Earl, 
almost alone in his peril. Tlie knight, thus left to himself, 
did not hesitate — a minute more, and he was in the midst 
of the Welch force, headed by the chief with the golden 
panoply. Secure in his ring mail against the light weapons 
of the Welch, the sweep of the Norman sword was as the 
scythe of Death. Right and left he smote through the 
throng which he took in the flank, and had almost gained 
the small phalanx of Saxons, that lay firm in the midst, 
when the Cymrian Chief’s flashing eye was drawn to this 
new and strange foe, by the roar and the groan round the 
Norman’s way ; and with the half-naked breast against the 
shirt of mail, and the short Roman sword against the long 
Norman falchion, the Lion King of Wales fronted the 
knight. 

Unequal as seems the encounter, so quick was the spring 
of the Briton, so pliant his arm, and so rapid his w eapon, 
that that good knight (who, rather from skill and valour 
than brute physical strength, ranked amongst the prowest 
of William’s band of martial brothers) would willingly have 
preferred to see before him Fitzosborne or Montgomeri, all 
clad in steel and armed with mace and lance, than parried 
those dazzling strokes, and fronted the angry majesty of 
that helmless brow. Already the strong rings of his mail 
had been twice pierced, and his blood trickled fast, while 
his great sword had but smitten the air in its sweeps at the 
foe ; when the Saxon phalanx, taking advantage of the 
breach in the ring that girt them, caused by this diversion, 
and recognising with fierce ire the gold torque and breast- 
plate of the Welch King, made their desperate charge. 
Then for some minutes the pele mele was confused and 
indistinct — blows blind and at random — death coming no 
man knew whence or how ; till discipline and steadfast 
order (which the Saxons kept, as by mechanism, through 
the discord) obstinately prevailed. The wedge forced its 
way ; and, though reduced in numbers and sore w^ounded, 
the Saxon troop cleared the ring, and joined the main force 
draw n up by the fort, and guarded in the rear by its w^all. 

Meanwhile Harold, supported by the band under Sexwolf, 
had succeeded at len^h in repelling farther reinforcements 
of the Welch at the more accessible part of the trenches; 
and casting now his practised eye over the field, he issued 
orders for some of the men to regain the fort, and open from 
the battlements, and from every loophole, the batteries of 
stone and javelin, which then (w ith the Saxons, unskilled in 


190 


HAROLD 


sieges) formed the main artillery of forts. These orders 
given, he planted Sex wolf and most of his band to keep watch 
round the trenches; and shading his eye with his hand, 
and looking towards the moon, all waning and dimmed in 
the watchfires, he said calmly, ^ Now patience fights for us. 
Ere the moon reaches yon hill-top, the troops at Aber and 
Caer-hen will be on the slopes of Penmaen, and cut off the 
retreat of the Walloons. Advance my flag to the thick of 
yon strife.’ 

But as the Earl, with his axe swung over his shoulder, 
and followed but by some half-score or more with his banner, 
strode on where the wild war was now mainly concentred, 
just midway between trench and fort, Grylfyth caught sight 
both of the banner and the Earl, and left the press at the 
very moment when he had gained the greatest advantage ; 
and when indeed, but for the Norman, who, wounded as he 
was, and unused to fight on foot, stood resolute in the 
van, the Saxons, wearied out by numbers, and falling fast 
beneath the javelins, would have fled into their walls, and 
so sealed their fate — for the Welch would have entered at 
their heels. 

But it was the misfortune of the W elch heroes never to 
learn that war is a science ; and instead of now centering 
all force on the point most weakened, the whole field 
vanished from the fierce eye of the Welch king, when he 
saw the banner and form of Harold. 

The Earl beheld the coming foe, wheeling round, as the 
hawk on the heron ; halted, drew up his few men in a 
semicircle, with their large shields as a rampart, and their 
levelled spears as a palisade ; and before them all, as a 
tower, stood Harold with his axe. In a minute more he 
was surrounded ; and through the rain of javelins that 
poured upon him, hissed and glittered the sword of GrylFyth. 
But Harold, more practised than the Sire de Graville in 
the sword-play of the Welch, and unencumbered by other 
defensive armour (save only the helm, which was shaped 
like the Norman’s) than his light coat of hide, opposed 
quickness to quickness, and suddenly dropping his axe, 
sprang upon his foe, and clasping him round with the left 
arm, with the right hand griped at his throat — 

^ Yield, and quarter ! — yield, for thy life, son of Llew ellyn !’ 

Strong was that embrace, and deathlike that gripe ; yet, 
as the snake from the hand of the dervise — as a ghost from 
the grasp of the dreamer, the lithe Cymrian glided away, 
and the broken torque was all that remained in the clutch 
of Harold. 

At this moment a mighty yell of despair broke from the 


HAROLD 


101 


W'elcli near the fort : stones and javelins rained upon them 
from the walls, and the fierce Norman was in the midst, 
with his sword drinking blood ; but not for javelin, stone, 
and sword, shrank and shouted the Welchmen. On the 
other side of the trenches were marching against them their 
own countrymen, the rival tribes that helped the stranger 
to rend the land : and far to the right were seen the spears 
of the Saxon from Aber, and to the left was heard the shout 
of the forces under Godrith from Caer-hen ; and they who 
had sought the leopard in his lair were now themselves the 
prey caught in the toils. With new heart, as they beheld 
these reinforcements, the Saxons pressed on ; tumult, and 
flight, and indiscriminate slaughter, wrapped the field. 
Tlie Welch rushed to the stream and the trenches ; and 
in the bustle and hurlabaloo, GryfFyth was swept along, as 
a bull by a torrent ; still facing the foe, now chiding, now 
smiting his own men, now rushing alone on the pursuers, 
and halting their onslaught, he gained, still unwounded, 
the stream, paused a moment, laughed loud, and sprang into 
the wave. A hundred javelins hissed into the sullen and 
bloody waters. ^ Hold ! ’ cried Harold the Earl, lifting his 
hand on high, ' No dastard dart at the brave ! ’ 


CHAPTER IV 

The fugitive Britons, scarce one-tenth of the number that 
had first rushed to the attack — performed their flight with 
the same Parthian rapidity that characterised tlie assault ; 
and escaping both Welch foe and Saxon, though the former 
broke ground to pursue them, they regained the steeps of 
Penmaen. 

There was no further thought of slumber that night 
within the walls. While the wounded were tended, and the 
dead were cleared from the soil, Harold, with three of his 
chiefs, and Mallet de Graville, whose feats rendered it more 
than ungracious to refuse his request that he might assist in 
the council, conferred upon the means of terminating the 
war with the next day. Two of the thegns, their blood hot 
with strife and revenge, proposed to scale the mountain with 
the whole force the reinforcements had brought them, and 
put all they found to the sword. 

The third, old and prudent, and inured to Welch warfare, 
thought otherwise. 

^ None of us,’ said he, ^ know what is the true strength of 




192 


HAROLD 


the place which ye propose to storm. Not even one Welch- 
man have w'e found who hath ever himself gained the summit, 
or examined the castle which is said to exist there.’ 

^ Said ! ’ echoed De Graville, who, relieved of his mail, and 
with his wounds bandaged, reclined on his furs on the floor. 
^ Said, noble sir ! Cannot our eyes perceive the towers } ’ 

The old thegn shook his head. ^At a distance, and 
through mists, stones loom large, and crags themselves take 
strange shapes. It may be castle, may be rock, may be old 
roofless temples of heathenesse that we see. But to repeat 
(and, as I am slow, I pray not again to be put out in my 
speech) — none of us know what, there, exists of defence, 
man-made or Nature-built. Not even thy Welch spies, son 
of Godwin, have gained to the heights. In the midst lie the 
scouts of the Welch king, and those on the top can see the 
bird fly, the goat climb. Few of thy spies, indeed, have 
ever returned with life ; their heads have been left at the 
foot of the hill, with the scroll in their lips — Die ad inferos 
— quid in superis novtsti.” Tell to the shades below what 
thou hast seen in the heights above.’ 

^ And the Walloons know Latin ! ’ muttered the knight ; 
‘ I respect them ! ’ 

The slow thegn frowned, stammered, and renewed — 

' One thing at least is clear ; that the rock is wellnigh 
insurmountable to those who know not the passes ; that 
strict watch, baffling even Welch spies, is kept night and 
day ; that the men on the summit are desperate and fierce ; 
that our own troops are awed and terrified by the belief of 
the Welch, that the spot is haunted and the towers fiend- 
founded. One single defeat may lose us two years of 
victory. Gryftyth may break from the eyrie, regain what 
he hath lost, win back our Welch allies, ever faithless and 
hollow. Wherefore, I say, go on as we have begun. Beset 
all the country round ; cut oft’ all supplies, and let the foe 
rot by famine — or waste, as he hath done this night, his 
stren^h by vain onslaught and sally.’ 

^Thy counsel is good,’ said Harold, ^but there is yet 
something to add to it, which may shorten the strife, and 
gain the end with less sacrifice of life. The defeat of to- 
night will have humbled the spirits of the Welch ; take 
them yet in the hour of despair and disaster. I wish, 
therefore, to send to their outposts a nuncius, with these 
terms — ^^Life and pardon to all who lay down arms and 
surrender.” ’ 

^ What, after such havoc and gore.^’ cried one of the thegns. 

^ They defend their own soil,’ replied the Earl simply : 
' had not we done the same } ’ 


HAROLD 


193 


'But the rebel GryfFyth?’ asked the old thegn, 'thou 
canst not accept him again as crowned sub-king of Edward ?’ 

' No/ said the Earl, ' I propose to exempt GryfFyth alone 
from the pardon, with promise, natheless, of life, if he give 
himself up as prisoner; and count, without further condition, 
on the king’s mercy.’ There was a prolonged silence. None 
spoke against the Earl’s proposal, though the two younger 
thegns misliked it much. 

At last said the elder, ' But hast thou thought who will 
carry this message ? Fierce and wild are yon blood-dogs ; 
and man must needs shrive soul and make will, if he go to 
their kennel.’ 

'I feel sure T ’ i ^ -n . ^ Harold : 



'for GryfFyth 


sparing 


neither man nor child in the onslaught, will respect what 
the Roman taught his sires to respect — envoy from chief 
to chief — as a head scatheless and sacred.’ 

' Choose whom thou wilt, Harold,’ said one of the young 
thegns, laughing, ' but spare thy friends ; and whomsoever 
thou choosest, pay his widow the weregeld.’ 

'Fair sirs,’ then said De Graville, 'if ye think that I, 
though a stranger, could serve you as nuncius, it would be a 
pleasure to me to undei*take this mission. First, because, 
being curious as concerns forts and castles, I would fain see 
if mine eyes have deceived me in taking yon towers for a 
hold of great might. Secondly, because that same wild cat 
of a king must have a court rare to visit. And the only 
reflection that withholds my pressing the offer as a personal 
suit is, that though I have some words of the Breton jargon 
at my tongue’s need, I cannot pretend to be a Tully in 
Welch ; howbeit, since it seems that one, at least, among 
them knows something of Latin, I doubt not but what I shall 
get out my meaning ! ’ 

'Nay, as to that. Sire de Graville,’ said Harold, who 
seemed well pleased with the knight’s offer, ' there shall be 
no hindrance or let, as I will make clear to you ; and in 
spite of what you have just heard, GryfFyth shall harm you 
not in limb or in life. But, kindly and courteous Sir, will 
your wounds permit the journey, not long, but steep and 
laborious, and only to be made on foot } ’ 

'On foot!’ said the knight, a little staggered, ^ Pardex! 
well and truly, I did not count upon that ! ’ 

' Enough,’ said Harold, turning away in evident disappoint- 
ment, 'think of it no more.’ 

' Nay, by your leave, what I have once said I stand to,’ 
returned the knight ; ' albeit, you may as well cleave in two 
one of those respectable centaurs of which we have read in 


N 


104 


HAROLD 


our youth, as part Norman and horse. I will forthwith go 
to my chamber, and apparel myself becomingly — not for- 
getting, in case of the worst, to wear my mail under my robe. 
Vouchsafe me but an armourer, just to rivet up the rings 
through which scratched so felinely the paw of that well- 
appelled Griffin.’ 

‘ I accept your offer frankly,’ said Harold, ^ and all shall 
be prepared for you, as soon as you yourself will re-seek me 
here.’ 

The knight rose, and though somewhat stiff and smarting 
with his wounds, left the room lightly, summoned his 
armourer and squire, and having dressed with all the care 
and pomp habitual to a Norman, his gold chain round his 
neck, and his vest stiff with broidery, he re-entered the 
apartment of Harold. The Earl received him alone, and 
came up to him with a cordial face. ^ I thank thee more, 
brave Norman, than I ventured to say before my thegns, for 
I tell thee frankly, that my intent and aim are to save the 
life of this brave king ; and thou canst well understand that 
every Saxon amongst us must have his blood warmed by 
contest, and his eyes blind with national hate. You alone, 
as a stranger, see the valiant warrior and hunted prince, and 
as such you can feel for him the noble pity of manly foes.’ 

^ That is true,’ said De Graville, a little surprised, 

^ though we Normans are at least as fierce as you Saxons, 
M^hen we have once tasted blood ; and I own nothing would 
please me better than to dress that catamaran in mail, put a 
spear in its claws, and a horse under its legs, and thus fight 
out my disgrace at being so clawed and mauled by its griffies. 
And though 1 respect a brave knight in distress, I can scarce 
extend my compassion to a thing that fights against all rule, 
martial and kingly.’ 

The Earl smiled gravely. ^ It is the mode in which his 
ancestors rushed on the spears of Caesar. Pardon him.’ 

pardon him, at your gracious request,’ quoth the 
knight, with a grand air, and waving his hands ; ‘^say on.’ 

^You will proceed with a Welch monk — whom, though 
not of the faction of GryflFyth, all W elchmen respect — to the 
mouth of a frightful pass, skirting the river ; the monk will 
bear aloft the holy rood in signal of peace. Arrived at that 
pass, you will doubtless be stopped. The monk here will be 
spokesman ; and ask safe-conduct to Gryflfyth to deliver my 
message ; he will also bear certain tokens, which will no 
doubt win the way for you. 

^ Arrived before Gryffyth, the monk will accost him ; mark 
and heed well his gestures, since thou wilt not know the 
Welch tongue he employs. And when he raises the rood. 


HAROLD 


195 


tliou, — ill the meanwhile, having artfully approached close to 
Gryffyth, — wilt whisper in Saxon, which he well understands, 
and pressing the ring I now give thee into his hand, Obey, 
by this pledge ; thou knowest Harold is true, and thy head 
is sold by thine own people.” If he asks more, thou knowest 
nought.’ 

‘ So far, this is as should be from chief to chief,’ said the 
Norman, touched, ^and thus had Fitzosborne done to his 
foe. I thank thee for this mission, and the more that thou 
hast not asked me to note the strength of the bulwark, and 
number the men that may keep it.’ 

Again Harold smiled. ^Praise me not for this, noble 
Norman — we plain Saxons have not your refinements. If ye 
are led to the summit, which I think ye will not be, the 
monk at least will have eyes to see, and tongue to relate. 
But to thee I confide this much ; — I know, already, that 
Gryffyth’s strongholds are not his walls and his towers, but 
the superstition of our men, and the despair of his own. I 
could win those heights, as I have won heights as cloudcapt, 
but with fearful loss of my own troops, and the massacre of 
every foe. Both I would spare, if I may.’ 

^ Yet thou hast not shown such value for life, in the soli- 
tudes I passed,’ said the knight bluntly. 

Harold turned pale, but said firmly, ^ Sire de Graville, a 
stern thing is duty, and resistless is its voice. These Welch- 
men, unless curbed to their mountains, eat into the strength 
of England, as the tide gnaws into a shore. Merciless 
were they in their ravages on our borders, and ghastly and 
torturing their fell revenge. But it is one thing to grapple 
with a foe fierce and strong, and another to smite when his 
power is gone, fang and talon. And when I see before me 
the fated king of a great race, and the last band of doomed 
heroes, too few and too feeble to make head against my arms, 
— when the land is already my own, and the sword is that of 
the deathsman, not of the warrior, — verily. Sir Norman, 
duty releases its iron tool, and man becomes man again.’ 

^ I go,’ said the Norman, inclining his head low as to his 
own great Duke, and turning to the door ; yet there he 
paused, and looking at the ring which he had placed on his 
finger, he said, ^ But one word more, if not indiscreet — your 
answer may help argument, if argument be needed. What 
tale lies hid in this token ? ’ 

Harold coloured and paused a moment, then answered — 

^ Simply this. Gryffyth’s wife, the lady Aldyth, a Saxon 
by birth, fell into my hands. We were storming Rhadlan, 
at the farther end of the isle ; she was there. We war not 
against women ; I feared the licence of my own soldiers, and 


196 


HAROLD 


I sent the lady to GrylFyth. Aldyth gave me this ring on 
parting ; and I bade her tell Gryffyth that whenever, at the 
hour of his last peril and sorest need, I sent that ring back 
to him, he might hold it the pledge of his life.’ 

^ Is this lady, think you, in the stronghold with her lord ? ’ 

^ I am not sure, but I fear yes,’ answered Harold. 

^ Yet one word : And if Gryffyth refuse, despite all 
warning ? ’ 

Harold’s eyes drooped. 

^ If so, he dies ; but not by the Saxon sword. God and 
our lady speed you ! ’ 


CHAPTER V 

On the height called Pen-y-Dinas (or ^ Head of the City’), 
forming one of the summits of Penmaen-mawr, and in the 
heart of that supposed fortress which no eye in the Saxon 
camp had surveyed, reclined Gryffyth, the hunted king. 
Nor is it marvellous that at that day there should be disputes 
as to the nature and strength of the supposed bulwark, 
since, in times the most recent, and among antiquaries the 
most learned, the greatest discrepancies exist, not only as to 
theoretical opinion, but plain matter of observation, and 
simple measurement. The place, however, I need scarcely 
say, was not as we see it now, with its foundations of gigantic 
ruin, affording ample space for conjecture ; yet, even then, 
a wreck as of Titans, its date and purpose were lost in remote 
antiquity. 

The central area (in which the W elch king now reclined) 
formed an oval barrow of loose stones : whether so left from 
the origin, or the relics of some vanished building, was un- 
known even to bard and diviner. Round this space were four 
strong circumvallations of loose stones, with a space about 
eighty yards between each ; the walls themselves generally 
about eight feet wide, but of various height, as the stones 
had fallen by time and blast. Along these walls rose numer- 
ous and almost countless circular buildings, which might 
pass for towers, though only a few had been recently and 
rudely roofed in. To the whole of this quadruple enclosure 
there was but one narrow entrance, now left open as if in 
scorn of assault ; and a winding narrow pass down the 
mountain, with innumerable cui*ves, alone led to the single 
threshold. Far down the hill walls again were visible ; and 
the whole surface of the steep soil, more than half way in the 


HAROLD 


197 


descent, was heaped with vast loose stones, as if the bones of 
a dead city. But beyond the innermost enclosure of the 
fort (if fort, or sacred enclosure, he the correcter name) 
rose, thick and frequent, other mementos of the Briton ; 
many cromlechs, already shattered and shapeless ; the ruins 
of stone houses ; and high over all, those upraised, mighty 
amber piles, as at Stonehenge, once reared, if our dim 
learning be true, in honour to Bel, or Bal-Huan, the idol of 
the sun. All, in short, showed that the name of the place, 
^ the Head of the City,’ told its tale ; all announced that 
tliere, once the Celt had his home, and the gods of the 
Druid their worship. And musing amidst these skeletons 
of the past, lay the doomed son of Pen Dragon. 

Beside him a kind of throne had been raised with stones, 
and over it was spread a tattered and faded velvet pall. On 
this throne sat Aldyth the Queen ; and about the royal pair 
was still that mockery of a court which the jealous pride of 
the Celt king retained amidst all the horrors of carnage and 
famine. Most of the officers, indeed (originally in number 
twenty-four), whose duties attached them to the king and 
queen of the Cymry, were already feeding the crow or the 
worm. But still, with gaunt hawk on his wrist, the penhe- 
bogydd (grand falconer) stood at a distance ; still, with beard 
sweeping his breast, and rod in hand, leant against a pro- 
jecting shaft of the wall, the noiseless gosdegwr, whose duty 
it was to command silence in the king’s hall ; and still the 
penbard bent over his bruised harp, which once had thrilled, 
through the fair vaults of Caerleon and Rhadlan, in high 
praise of God, and the King, and the Hero Dead. In the 
pomp of gold dish and vessel the board was spread on the 
stones for the king and queen ; and on the dish was the last 
fragment of black bread, and in the vessel, full and clear, 
the water from the spring that bubbled up everlastingly 
through the bones of the dead city. 

Beyond this innermost space, round a basin of rock, 
through which the stream overflowed as from an artificial 
conduit, lay the wounded and exhausted, crawling, turn by 
turn, to the lips of the basin, and happy that the thirst of 
fever saved them from the gnawing desire of food. A wan 
and spectral figure glided listlessly to and fro amidst those 
mangled and parched and dying groups. This personage, in 
happier times, filled the office of physician to the court, and 
was placed twelfth in rank amidst the chiefs of the house- 
hold. And for cure of the ^ three deadly wounds,’ the cloven 
skull, or the gaping viscera, or the broken limb (all three 
classed alike), large should have been his fee. But feeless 
went he now from man to man, with his red ointment and 


198 


HAROLD 


his muttered charm ; and those over whom he shook his 
lean face and matted locks^ smiled ghastly at that sign that 
release and death were near. Within the enclosures^ either 
lay supine, or stalked restless, the withered remains of the 
wild army. A sheep, and a horse, and a dog, were yet left 
them all to share for the day’s meal. And the fire of flicker- 
ing and crackling brushwood burned bright from a hollow 
amidst the loose stones ; but the animals were yet unslain, 
and the dog crept by the fire, winking at it with dim eyes. 

But over the lower part of the wall nearest to the barrow, 
leant three men. The wall there was so broken, that they 
could gaze over it on that grotesque yet dismal court ; and 
the eyes of the three men, with a fierce and wolfish glare, 
were bent on Gryffyth. 

Tliree princes were they of the great old line ; far as 
Gryffyth they traced the fabulous honours of their race, to 
Hu-Gadarn and Prydain, and each thought it shame that 
Gryffyth should be lord over him ! Each had had throne 
and court of his own ; each his ^ white palace ’ of peeled 
willow wands — poor substitutes, O kings, for the palaces 
and towers that the arts of Rome had bequeathed your 
fathers ! And each had been subjugated by the son of 
Llewellyn, when, in his day of might, he re-united under 
his sole sway all the multiform principalities of Wales, and 
regained, for a moment’s splendour, the throne of Roderic 
the Great. 

^ Is it,’ said Owain, in a hollow whisper, ^ for yon man, 
whom heaven hath deserted, who could not keep his very 
torque from the gripe of the Saxon, that we are to die on 
these hills, gnawing the flesh from our bones Think ye 
not the hour is come ? ’ 

^The hour will come, when the sheep, and the horse, 
and the dog are devoured,’ replied Modred, ^ and when the 
whole force, as one man, wdll cry to Gryffyth, Thou a king! 
— give us bread ! ” ’ 

^It is well,’ said the third, an old man, leaning on a v alid 
of solid silver, while the mountain wind, sweeping betw een 
the walls, played with the rags of his robe, — ^ it is well that 
the night’s saily, less of war than of hunger, was foiled even 
of forage and food. Had the saints been with Gryffyth, wdio 
had dared to keep faith with Tostig the Saxon ? ’ 

Owain laughed, a laugh hollow and false. 

* Art thou Cymrian, and talkest of faith with a Saxon 
Faith with the spoiler, the ravisher, and butcher.^ But a 
Cymrian keeps faith with revenge ; and Gryffyth’s trunk 
should be still crownless and headless, though Tostig had 
never proffered the barter of safety and food. Hist! Gryffyth 


HAROLD 


199 


wakes from the black dream, and his eyes fflow from under 
his hair.; 

And indeed at this moment the King raised himself on 
his elbow, and looked round with a haggard and fierce de- 
spair in his glittering eyes. 

^ Play to us. Harper ; sing some song of the deeds of old ! ’ 
The bard mournfully strove to sweep the harp, but the 
chords were broken, and the note came discordant and shrill 
as the sigh of a wailing fiend. 

King !’ said the bard, ^the music hath left the harp.’ 

^ Ha ! ’ murmured GryfFyth, and Hope the earth ! Bard, 
answer the son of Llewellyn. Oft in my halls hast thou 
sung the praise of the men that have been. In the halls of 
the race to come, will bards yet unborn sweep their harps to 
the deeds of thy King.^ Shall they tell of the day of 
Torques, by Llyn-Afangc, when the princes of Powysl'fled 
from his sword as the clouds from the blast of the wind ? 
Shall they sing, as the Hildas goes round, of his steeds of 
the sea, when no flag came in sight of his prows between the 
dark isle of the Druid and the green pastures of the Huer- 
dan ? Or the towns that he fired, on the lands of the Saxon, 
when Rolf and the Northmen ran fast from his javelin and 
spear ? Or say. Child of Truth, if all that is told of GryfFyth 
thy King shall be his woe and his shame ? ’ 

Tlie bard swept his hand over his eyes and answered — 

^ Bards unborn shall sing of GryfFyth the son of Llewellyn. 
But the song shall not dwell on the pomp of his power, when 
twenty sub-kings knelt at his throne, and his beacon was 
lighted in the holds of the Norman and Saxon. Bards shall 
sing of the hero, who fought every inch of crag and morass 
in the front of his men, — and on the heights of Penmaen- 
mawr, Fame recovers thy crown ! ’ 

^Then I have lived as my fathers in life, and shall live 
with their glory in death ! ’ said GryfFyth ; ‘ and so the 
shadow hath passed from my soul.’ Then turning round, 
still propped upon his elbow, he fixed his proud eye upon 
Aldyth, and said gravely, ^Wife, pale is thy face, and 
gloomy thy brow : mournest thou the throne or the man ? ’ 
Aldyth cast on her wild lord a look of more terror than 
compassion, a look without the grief that is gentle, or the 
love that reveres ; and answered — 

^WTiat matter to thee my thoughts or my sufferings.^ 
’Phe sword or the famine is the doom thou hast chosen. 
Listening to vain dreams from thy bard, or thine own pride 
as idle, thou disdainest life for us both : be it so ; let us 
die !’ 

A strange blending of fondness and wrath troubled the 


200 


HAROLD 


pride on GryfFytli’s features, uncouth and half savage as 
they were, but still noble and kingly. 

^ And what terror has death, if thou lovest me ? ’ said he. 

Aldyth shivered and turned aside. The unhappy king 
gazed hard on that face, which, despite sore trial and recent 
exposure to rough wind and weather, still retained the pro- 
verbial beauty of the Saxon women — but beauty without the 
glow of the heart, as a landscape from which sunlight has 
vanished ; and as he gazed, the colour went and came fitfully 
over his swarthy cheeks, whose hue contrasted the blue of 
his eye and the red tawny gold of his shaggy hair. 

^TTiou wouldst have me,’ he said at length, ^send to 
Harold thy countryman ; thou wouldst have me, me — right- 
ful lord of all Britain — beg for mercy, and sue for life. Ah, 
traitress, and child of robber-sires, fair as Rowena art thou, 
but no Vortimer am I ! Thou turnest in loathing from 
the lord whose marriage-gift was a crown ; and the sleek 
form of thy Saxon Harold rises up through the clouds of 
the carnage.’ 

All the fierce and dangerous jealousy of man’s most human 
passion — when man loves and hates in a breath — trembled 
in the Cymrian’s voice, and fired his troubled eye ; for 
Aldyth’s pale cheek blushed like the rose, but she folded her 
arms haughtily on her breast, and made no reply. 

^No,’ said Gryffyth, grinding teeth, white and strong as 
those of a young hound. ^ No, Harold in vain sent me the 
casket ; the jewel was gone. In vain thy form returned to 
my side ; thy heart was away with thy captor : and not to 
save my life (were I so base as to seek it), but to see once 
more the face of him to whom this cold hand, in whose 
veins no pulse answers my own, had been given, if thy 
House had consulted its daughter, wouldst thou have me 
crouch like a lashed dog at the feet of my foe ! Oh shame ! 
shame ! shame ! Oh worst perfidy of all ! Oh sharp — 
sharper than Saxon sword or serpent’s tooth, is — is ’ 

Tears gushed to those fierce eyes, and the proud king 
dared not trust to his voice. 

Aldyth rose coldly. ^ Slay me if thou wilt — not insult me. 
I have said, Let us die !” ’ 

With these words and vouchsafing no look on her lord, 
she moved away towards the largest tower or cell, in which 
the single and rude chamber it contained had been set apart 
for her. 

Gryffyth’s eye followed her, softening gradually as her 
form receded, till lost to his sight. And then that peculiar 
household love, which in uncultivated breasts often survives 
trust and esteem, rushed back on his rough heart, and 


HAROLD 


201 


weakened it, as woman only can weaken the strong to whom 
Death is a thought of scorn. 

He signed to his bard, who, during the conference between 
wife and lord, had retired to a distance, and said with a 
writhing attempt to smile — 

^Was there truth, thiiikest thou, in the legend, that 
Guenever was false to King Arthur } ’ 

* No,’ answered the bard, divining his lord’s thought, ' for 
Guenever survived not the King, and they were buried side 
by side in the Vale of Avallon.’ 

' Thou art wise in the lore of the heart, and love hath been 
thy study from youth to grey hairs. Is it love, is it hate, 
that prefers death for the loved one, to the thought of her 
life as another’s ? ’ 

A look of the tenderest compassion passed over the bard’s 
wan face, but vanished in reverence, as he bowed his head 
and answered — 

' O King, who shall say what note the wind calls from the 
harp, or what impulse love wakes in the soul — now soft and 
now stern ? But,’ he added, raising his form, and, with a 
dread calm on his brow, ^ but the love of a king brooks no 
thought of dishonour : and she who hath laid her head on 
his breast should sleep in his grave.’ 

^ Thou wilt outlive me,’ said GryfFyth abruptly ; ‘ Tliis 
earn be my tomb ! ’ 

^And if so,’ said the bard, ^thou shalt sleep not alone. 
In this earn what thou lovest best shall be buried by thy 
side ; the bard shall raise his song over thy grave, and the 
bosses of shields shall be placed at intervals, as rises and 
falls the sound of song. Over the grave of two shall a new 
mound arise, and we will bid the mound speak to others in 
the far days to come. But distant yet be the hour when the 
mighty shall be laid low ! and the tongue of thy bard may 
yet chant the rush of the lion from the toils and the spears. 
Hope still ! ’ 

GryfFyth, for answer, leant on the harper’s shoulder, and 
pointed silently to the sea, that lay, lake-like at the distance, 
dark — studded with the Saxon fleet. Then turning, his 
hand stretched over the forms that, hollow-eyed and ghost- 
like, flitted between the walls, or lay dying, but mute, around 
the waterspring. His hand then dropped, and rested on the 
hilt of his sword. 

At this moment there was a sudden commotion at the 
outer entrance of the wall ; the crowd gathered to one spot, 
and there was a loud hum of voices. In a few moments one of 
the Welch scouts came into the enclosure, and the chiefs of the 
royal tribes followed him to the earn on which the King stood. 


202 


HAROLD 


^ Of what tellest thou ? ’ said Gryifyth, resuming on the 
instant all the royalty of his bearing. 

^At the mouth of the pass/ said the scout, kneeling, 
^ there are a monk bearing the holy rood, and a chief, un- 
armed. And the monk is Evan, the Cymrian, of Gwentland ; 
and the chief, by his voice, seemeth not to be Saxon. Tlie 
monk bade me give thee these tokens ’ (and the scout dis- 
played the broken torque which the King had left in the 
grasp of Harold, together with a live falcon belled and 
blinded), ^ and bade me say thus to the King : Harold the 
Earl greets Gryffyth, son of Llewellyn, and sends him, in 
proof of goodwill, the richest prize he hath ever won from a 
foe ; and a hawk, from Llandudno ; — that bird which chief 
and equal give to equal and chief. And he prays Gryffyth, 
son of Llewellyn, for the sake of his realm and his people, to 
grant hearing to his nuncius.’ 

A murmur broke from the chiefs — a murmur of joy and 
surprise from all, save the three conspirators, who inter- 
changed anxious and fiery glances. Gryffyth’s hand had 
already closed, while he uttered a cry that seemed of rapture, 
on the collar of gold ; for the loss of that collar had stung 
him, perhaps, more than the loss of the crown of all Wales. 
And his heart, so generous and large, amidst all its rude 
passions, was touched by the speech and the tokens that 
honoured the fallen outlaw both as foe and as king. Yet in 
his face there was still seen a moody and proud struggle ; 
he paused before he turned to the chiefs. 

* VYhat counsel ye — ye strong in battle, and wise in 
debate ? ’ said he. 

With one voice all, save the Fatal Three, exclaimed — 

^ Hear the monk, O King ! ’ 

^ Shall we dissuade ? ’ whispered Modred to the old chief, 
his accomplice. 

^No ; for so doing, we shall offend all : — and we must win all.’ 

Then the bard stepped into the ring. And the ring was 
hushed, for wise is ever the counsel of him whose book is the 
human heart. 

^ Hear the Saxons,’ said he, briefly, and with an air of 
command when addressing others, which contrasted strongly 
his tender respect to the King ; ^ hear the Saxons, but not 
in these walls. Let no man from the foe see our strength or 
our weakness. We are still mighty and impregnable, while 
our dwelling is in the realm of the Unknown. Let the King, 
and his officers of state, and his chieftains of battle, descend 
to the pass. And behind, at the distance, let the spearmen 
range from cliff to cliff, as a ladder of steel ; so will their 
numbers seem the greater.’ 


HAROLD 


20.3 


'Tliou speakest well/ said the King. 

Meanwhile the knight and the monk waited below at that 
terrible pass,^ which then lay between mountain and river, 
and over which the precipices frowned, with a sense of 
horror and weight. Looking up, the knight murmured — 

^ With those stones and crags to roll down on a marching 
army, the place well defies storm and assault ; and a hundred 
on the height w ould overmatch thousands below.’ 

He then turned to address a few words, with all the far- 
famed courtesy of Norman and Frank, to the Welch guards 
at the outpost. They were picked men ; the strongest and 
best armed and best fed of the group. But they shook their 
heads and answ'ered not, gazing at him fiercely, and showing 
their white teeth, as dogs at a bear before they are loosened 
from the band. 

^ They understand me not, poor languageless savages ! ’ 
said Mallet de Graville, turning to the monk, wdio stood by 
with the lifted rood ; ^ speak to them in their own jargon.’ 

^Nay,’ said the Welch monk, who, though of a rival tribe 
from South Wales, and at the service of Harold, was 
esteemed throughout the land for piety and learning, ^ they 
will not open mouth till the King’s orders come to receive 
or dismiss us unheard.’ 

^ Dismiss us unheard ! ’ repeated the punctilious Norman ; 
‘ even this poor barbarous King can scarcely be so strange 
to all comely and gentle usage, as to put such insult on 
Guillaume Mallet de Graville. But,’ added the knight, 
colouring, ^ I forgot that he is not advised of my name and 
land ; and, indeed, sith thou art to be spokesman, I marvel 
why Harold should have prayed my service at all, at the 
risk of subjecting a Norman knight to affronts contumelious.’ 

^ Peradventure,’ replied Evan, ^ peradventure thou hast 
something to w'hisper apart to the King, which, as stranger 
and warrior, none will venture to question ; but which from 
me, as countryman and priest, would excite the jealous 
suspicions of those around him.’ 

^ I conceive thee,’ said De Graville. ‘ And see, spears are 
gleaming down the path ; and per pedes Domini, yon chief 
with the mantle, and circlet of gold on his head, is the cat- 
king that so spitted and scratched in the melee last night.’ 

^ Heed well thy tongue,’ said Evan, alarmed ; ^ no jests 
with the leader of men.’ 

^ Knowest thou, good monk, that a facete and most gentil 
Roman (if the saintly writer from whom I take the citation 
reports aright — for, alas ! I know not w here myself to pur- 

1 I believe it was not till the last century that a good road took the 
place of this pass. 


204 


HAROLD 


chase, or to steal, one copy of Horatius Flaccus) hath said 

Dulce est desipere in loco.” It is sweet to jest, hut not 
within reach of claws, whether of kaisars or cats/ 

Therewith the knight drew up his spare but stately figure, 
and, arranging his robe with grace and dignity, awaited the 
coming chief. 

Down the paths, one by one, came first the chiefs, privi- 
leged by birth to attend the King ; and each, as he reached 
the mouth of the pass, drew on the upper side, among the 
stones of the rough ground. Then a banner, tattered and 
torn, with the lion ensign that the Welch princes had sub- 
stituted for the old national dragon, which the Saxons of 
W essex had appropriated to themselves, preceded the steps 
of the King. Behind him came his falconer and bard, and 
the rest of his scanty household. The King halted in the 
pass, a few steps from the Norman knight ; and Mallet de 
Graville, though accustomed to the majestic mien of Duke 
William, and the practised state of the princes of France 
and Flanders, felt an involuntary thrill of admiration at the 
bearing of the great child of Nature with his foot on his 
father s soil. 

Small and slight as was his stature, worn and ragged his 
mantle of state, there was that in the erect mien and steady 
eye of the Cymrian hero, which showed one conscious of 
authority, and potent in will ; and the M^ave of his hand to 
the knight was the gesture of a prince on his throne. Nor, 
indeed, was that .brave and ill-fated chief without some 
irregular gleams of mental cultivation, which, under happier 
auspices, might have centred into steadfast light, lliough 
the learning which had once existed in Wales (the last legacy 
of Rome) had long since expired in broil and blood, and 
youths no longer flocked to the colleges of Caerleon, and 
priests no longer adorned the casuistical theology of the 
age, Grylfyth himself, the son of a wise and famous father, 
had received an education beyond the average Saxon kings. 
But, intensely national, his mind had turned from all other 
literature to the legends, and songs, and chronicles of his 
land ; and if he is the best scholar who best understands his 
own tongue and its treasures, Gryffyth was the most erudite 
prince of his age. 

His natural talents, for war especially, were considerable ; 
and judged fairly — not as mated with an empty treasury, 
without other army than the capricious will of his subjects 
afforded, and amidst his bitterest foes in the jealous chiefs 
of his own country, against the disciplined force and com- 
parative civilisation of the Saxon — but as compared with 
all the ojther princes of Wales, in warfare, to which he was 


HAROLD 


205 


habituated, and in which chances were even, the fallen son 
of Llewellyn had been the most renowned leader that Cymry 
had known since the death of the great Roderic. 

So there he stood ; his attendants ghastly with famine, 
drawn up on the unequal ground ; above, on the heights, 
and rising from the stone crags, long lines of spears artfully 
placed ; and, watching him with deathful eyes, somewhat in 
his rear, the Traitor TTiree. 

^ Speak, father, or chief,’ said the Welch King in his 
native tongue ; ^ what would Harold the Earl of Gryffyth 
the King?’ 

Then the monk took up the word and spoke — 

^Health to Gryffyth-ap-Llewellyn, his chiefs and his 
people ! ’fhus saith Harold, King Edward’s thegn : — By 
land all the passes are watched ; by sea all the waves are 
our own. Our swords rest in our sheaths ; but Famine 
marches each hour to gride and to slay. Instead of sure 
death from the hunger, take sure life from the foe. Free 
pardon to all, chiefs and people, and safe return to their 
homes, — save Gryflfyth alone. Let him come forth, not as 
victim and outlaw, not with bent form and clasped hands, 
but as chief meeting chief, with his household of state. 
Harold will meet him, in honour, at the gates of the fort. 
Let GryiFyth submit to King Edward, and ride with Harold 
to the Court of the Basileus. Harold promises him life, 
and will plead for his pardon. And though the peace of 
this realm, and the fortune of war, forbid Harold to say, 
“Thou shalt yet be a king” ; yet thy crown, son of Llewel- 
lyn, shall at least be assured in the line of thy fathers, and 
the race of Cadwallader shall still reign in Cymry.’ 

The monk paused, and hope and joy were in the faces o^ 
the famished chiefs ; while two of the Traitor Three suddenly 
left their post, and sped to tell the message to the spearmen 
and multitudes above. Modred, the third conspirator, laid 
his hand on his hilt, and stole near to see the face of the 
King ; — the face of the King was dark and angry, as a mid- 
night of storm. 

Then, raising the cross on high, Evan resumed — 

^And I, though of the people of Gwentland, which the 
arms of Grylfyth have wasted, and whose prince fell beneath 
Gryffyth’s sword on the hearth of his hall — I, as God’s 
servant, the brother of all I behold, and, as son of the 
soil, mourning over the slaughter of its latest defenders — 
I, by this symbol of love and command, which I raise to the 
heaven, adjure thee, O King, to give ear to the mission of 
peace, — to cast down the grim pride of earth. And instead 
of the crown of a day, fix thy hopes on the crown everlasting. 


206 


HAROLD 


For much shall be pardoned to thee in thine hour of pomp 
and of conquest, if now thou savest from doom and from 
death the last lives over which thou art lord.’ 

It was during this solemn appeal that the knight, marking 
the sign announced to him, and drawing close to Grylfyth, 
pressed the ring into the King’s hand, and whispered — 

^ Obey by this pledge. Thou knowest Harold is true, and 
thy head is sold by thine own people.’ 

The King cast a haggard eye at the speaker, and then at 
the ring, over which his hand closed with a convulsive spasm. 
And at that dread instant the man prevailed over the king ; 
and far away from people and monk, from adjuration and 
duty, fled his heart on the wings of the storm — fled to the 
cold wife he distrusted : and the pledge that should assure 
him of life, seemed as a love-token insulting his fall : — 
Amidst all the roar of roused passions, loudest of all was the 
hiss of the jealous fiend. 

As the monk ceased, the thrill of the audience was per- 
ceptible, and a deep silence was followed by a general 
murmur, as if to constrain the King. 

Then the pride of the despot chief rose up to second the 
wrath of the suspecting man. The red spot flushed the 
dark, cheek, and he tossed the neglected hair from his brow. 

He made one stride towards the monk, and said, in a 
voice loud, and deep, and slow, rolling far up the hill — 

^ Monk, thou hast said ; and now hear the reply of the 
son of Llewellyn, the true heir of Roderic the Great, who 
from the heights of Eryri saw all the lands of the Cymrian 
sleeping under the dragon of Uther. King was I born, and 
king will I die. I will not ride by the side of the Saxon to 
the feet of Edward, the son of the spoiler. I will not, to 
purchase base life, surrender the claim, vain before men and 
the hour, but solemn before God and posterity — the claim 
of my line and my people. All Britain is ours — all the 
island of Pines. And the children of Hengist are traitors 
and rebels — not the heirs of Ambrosius and Uther. Say to 
Harold the Saxon, Ye have left us but the tomb of the Druid 
and the hills of the eagle ; but freedom and royalty are ours, 
in life and in death — not for you to demand them, not for 
us to betray. Nor fear ye, O my chiefs, few, but unmatched 
in glory and truth ; fear not ye to perish by the hunger thus 
denounced as our doom, on these heights that command the 
fruits of our own fields ! No, die we may, but not mute and 
revengeless. Go back, whispering warrior ; go back, false 
son of Cymry — and tell Harold to look well to his m alls and 
his trenches. We will vouchsafe him grace for his grace — 
we will not take him by surprise, nor under cloud of the 


HAROLD 


207 


niglit. With the gleam of our spears and the clash of our 
shields^ we will come from the hill : and^ famine-worn as 
he deems us, hold a feast in his walls which the eagles of 
Snowdon spread their pinions to share ! ’ 

^ Rash man and unhappy ! ’ cried the monk ; ^ what curse 
d rawest thou down on thy head ! Wilt thou be the murtherer 
of thy men, in strife unavailing and vain? Heaven holds 
thee guilty of all the blood thou shalt cause to be shed.’ 

^ Be dumb ! — hush thy screech, lying raven ! ’ exclaimed 
Gryffyth, his eyes darting fire, and his slight form dilating. 
^Once, priest and monk went before us to inspire, not to 
daunt ; and our cry. Alleluia ! was taught us by the saints 
of the Church, on the day when Saxons, fierce and many 
as Harold’s, fell on the field of Maes-Garmon. No, the 
curse is on the head of the invader, not on those who defend 
hearth and altar. Yea, as the song to the bard, the curse 
leaps through my veins, and rushes forth from my lips. 
By the land they have ravaged ; by the gore they have spilt ; 
on these crags, our last refuge ; below the earn on yon 
heights, where the Dead stir to hear me, — I launch the 
curse of the wronged and the doomed on the children of 
Hengist ! They in turn shall know the steel of the stranger 
— their crown shall be shivered as glass, and their nobles 
be as slaves in the land. And the line of Hengist and 
Cerdic shall be rased from the roll of empire. And the 
ghosts of our fathers shall glide, appeased, over the grave 
of their nation. But we — we, though weak in the body, 
in the soul shall be strong to the last ! The ploughshare 
may pass over our cities, but the soil shall be trod by our 
steps, and our deeds keep our language alive in the songs 
of our bards. Nor, in the great Judgment Day, shall any 
race but the race of Cymry rise from their graves in this 
corner of earth, to answer for the sins of the brave ! ’ 

So impressive the voice, so grand the brow, and sublime 
the wild gesture of the King, as he thus spoke, that not 
only the monk himself was awed ; not only, though he 
understood not the words, did the Norman knight bow his 
head, as a child when the lightning he fears as by instinct 
flashes out from the cloud — but even the sullen and wide- 
spreading discontent at work among most of the chiefs was 
arrested for a moment. But the spearmen and multitude 
above, excited by the tidings of safety to life, and worn out 
by repeated defeat, and the dread fear of famine, too remote 
to hear the King, were listening eagerly to the insidious 
addresses of the two stealthy conspirators, creeping from 
rank to rank ; and already they began to sway and move, 
and sweep slowly down towards the King, 


208 


HAROLD 


Recovering his surprise, the Norman again neared 
GryiFyth, and began to re-urge his mission of peace. But 
the chief waved him back sternly, and said aloud, though 
in Saxon : — 

^ No secrets can pass between Harold and me. Tliis much 
alone, take thou back as answer : — I thank the Earl, for 
myself, my Queen, and my people. Noble have been his 
courtesies, as foe ; as foe I thank him — as king, defy. The 
torque he hath returned to my hand, he shall see again ere 
the sun set. Messengers, ye are answered. Withdraw, and 
speed fast, that we may pass not your steps on the road.’ 

The monk sighed, and cast a look of holy compassion over 
the circle ; and a pleased man was he to see in the faces of 
most there, that the King was alone in his fierce defiance. 
Then lifting again the rood, he turned away, and with him 
went the Norman. 

The retirement of the messengers was the signal for one 
burst of remonstrance from the chiefs — the signal for the 
voice and the deeds of the Fatal Three. Down from the 
heights sprang and rushed the angry and turbulent multi- 
tudes ; round the King came the bard and the falconer, and 
some faithful few. 

The great uproar of many voices caused the monk and the 
knight to pause abruptly in their descent, and turn to look 
behind. They could see the crowd rushing down from the 
higher steeps ; but on the spot itself which they had so 
lately left, the nature of the ground only permitted a con- 
fused view of spear-points, lifted swords, and heads crowned 
with shaggy locks, swaying to and fro. 

^What means all this commotion.^’ asked the knight, 
with his hand on his sword. 

^ Hist ! ’ said the monk, pale as ashes, and leaning for 
support upon the cross. 

Suddenly, above the hubbub, was heard the voice of the 
King, in accents of menace and wrath, singularly distinct 
and clear; it was followed by a moment’s silence — a 
moment’s silence followed by the clatter of arms, a yell, 
and a howl, and the indescribable shock of men. 

And suddenly again was heard a voice that seemed that 
of the King, but no longer distinct and clear ! — was it 
laugh ? — was it groan 

All was hushed ; the monk was on his knees in prayer ; 
the knight’s sword was bare in his hand. All was hushed 
— and the spears stood still in the air; when there was 
again a cry, as multitudinous, but less savage than before. 
And the Welch came down the pass, and down the crags. 

Tlie knight placed his back to a rock. ^ They have orders 


HAROLD 209 

to murther us,* lie murmured ; ^ but woe to the first who 
come within reach of my sw ord ! ’ 

Down swarmed the Welchmen, nearer and nearer ; and 
in the midst of them three chiefs — the Fatal Three. And 
the old chief bore in his hand a pole or spear, and on the top 
of that spear, trickling gore step by step, was the trunkless 
head of Gryffyth the King. 

'This,* said the old chief, as he drew near, ^this is our 
answer to Harold the Earl. We will go with ye.’ 

^Food ! Food ! ’ cried the multitude. 

And the three chiefs (one on either side the trunkless head 
that the third bore aloft) whispered, ^ W e are avenged ! ’ 


0 


BOOK VIII 


FATE 

CHAPTER I 

Some days after tlie tragical event with which the last chapter 
closed, the ships of the Saxons were assembled in the wide 
waters of Conway ; and on the small fore-deck of the state- 
liest vessel, stood Harold, bare-headed, before Aldyth, the 
widowed Queen. For the faithful bard had fallen by the 
side of his lord; . . . the dark promise was unfulfilled, 
and the mangled clay of the jealous Gryffyth slept alone in 
the narrow bed. A chair of state, with dossell and canopy, 
was set for the daughter of Algar, and behind, stood maidens 
of Wales, selected in haste for her attendants. 

But Aldyth had not seated herself ; and, side by side with 
her dead lord’s great victor, thus she spoke — 

^Woe worth the day and the hour when Aldyth left the 
hall of her fathers and the land of her birth ! Her robe of a 
queen has been rent and torn over an aching heart, and the 
air she has breathed has reeked as with blood. I go forth, 
widowed, and homeless, and lonely ; hut my feet shall press 
the soil of my sires, and my lips draw the breath which came 
sweet and pure to my childhood. And thou, O Harold, 
standest beside me, like the shape of my own youth, and 
the dreams of old come back at the sound of thy voice. 
Fare thee well, noble heart and true Saxon. Tliou hast 
twice saved the child of thy foe — first from shame, then 
from famine. Thou wouldst have saved my dread lord from 
open force, and dark murder ; but the saints were wroth, 
the blood of my kinsfolk, shed by his hand, called for 
vengeance, and the shrines he had pillaged and burned 
murmured doom from their desolate altars. Peace be with 
the dead, and peace with the living ! 1 shall go back to 
my father and brethren ; and if the fame and life of child 
and sister be dear to them, their swords will never more 
210 


HAROLD 211 

leave their sheaths against Harold. So thy haiid^ and God 
guard thee ! ’ 

Harold raised to his lips the hand which the Queen ex- 
tended to him ; and to Aldyth now seemed restored the rare 
beauty of her youth ; as pride and sorrow gave her the 
charm of emotion, which love and duty had failed to bestow. 

^ Life and health to thee, noble lady,’ said the Earl. ^ Tell 
thy kindred from me, that for thy sake, and thy grandsire’s, 
1 would fain be their brother and friend ; were they but 
united with me, all England were now safe against every 
foe, and each peril. ITiy daughter already awaits thee in 
the halls of Morcar ; and when time has scarred the wounds 
of the past, may thy joys re-bloom in the face of thy child. 
Farewell, noble Aldyth !’ 

He dropped the hand he had held till then, turned slowly 
to the side of the vessel, and re-entered his boat. As he 
was rowed back to the shore, the horn gave the signal for 
raising anchor, and the ship righting itself, moved majestic- 
ally through the midst of the fleet. But Aldyth still stood 
erect, and her eyes followed the boat that bore away the 
secret love of her youth. 

As Harold reached the shore, Tostig and the Norman, 
who had been conversing amicably together on the beach, 
advanced towards the Earl. 

^ Brother,’ said Tostig, smiling, ‘ it were easy for thee to 
console the fair widow, and bring to our House all the force 
of East Anglia and Mercia.’ Harold’s face slightly changed j 
but he made no answer. 

^A marvellous fair dame,’ said the Norman, ^notwith- 
standing her cheek be somewhat pinched, and the hue 
sunburnt. And I wonder not that the poor cat-king kept 
her so close to his side.’ 

^Sir Norman,’ said the Earl, hastening to change the 
subject, ^ the war is now over, and, for long years, W ales 
will leave our marches in peace. — This eve I propose to 
ride hence towards London, and we will converse by the 
way.’ 

^ Go you so soon.^’ cried the knight, surprised. ^ Shall 
you not take means utterly to subjugate this troublesome 
race, parcel out the lands among your thegns, to hold as 
martial fiefs at need, build towers and forts on the heights, 
and at the river mouths } — where a site, like this, for some 
fair castle and vawmure } In a word, do you Saxons merely 
overrun, and neglect to hold what you win ’ 

^ We fight in self-defence, not for conquest. Sir Norman. 
We have no skill in building castles ; and I pray you not 
to hint to my thegns the conceit of dividing a land, as 


212 


HAROLD 


thieves would their plunder. King Gryffyth is dead, and 
his brothers will reign in his stead. England has guarded 
her realm, and chastised the aggressors. What need Eng- 
land do more ? We are not like our first barbarous fathers, 
carving out homes with the scythe of their ssexes. 'flie wave 
settles after the flood, and the races of men after lawless 
convulsions.’ 

Tostig smiled, in disdain, at the Knight, who mused a 
little over the strange words he had heard, and then silently 
followed the Earl to the fort. 

But when Harold gained his chamber, he found there an 
express, arrived in haste from Chester, with the news, that 
Algar, the sole enemy and single rival of his power, was 
no more. Fever, occasioned by neglected wounds, had 
stretched him impotent on a bed of sickness, and his fierce 
passions had aided the march of disease ; the restless and 
profitless race was run. 

The first emotion which these tidings called forth was 
that of pain. The bold sympathise with the bold ; and in 
great hearts, there is always a certain friendship for a 
gallant foe. But recovering the shock of that first impres- 
sion, Harold could not but feel that England was freed 
from its most dangerous subject — himself from the only 
obstacle apparent to the fulfilment of his luminous career. 

^Now, then, to London,’ whispered the voice of his 
ambition. ^Not a foe rests to trouble the peace of that 
empire which thy conquests, O Harold, have made more 
secure and compact than ever yet has been the realm of 
the Saxon kings. Thy way through the country that thou 
hast henceforth delivered from the fire and sword of the 
mountain ravager, will be one march of triumph, like a 
Roman’s of old ; and the voice of the people will echo the 
hearts of the army ; those hearts are thine omui. Verily 
Hilda is a prophetess ; and when Edward rests with the 
saints, from what English heart will not burst the cry. 

Long live Harold the King ” ? ’ 


CHAPTER II 

The Norman rode by the side of Harold, in the rear of the 
victorious armament. The ships sailed to their havens, and 
Tostig departed to his northern earldom. 

^ And now,’ said Harold, H am at leisure to thank thee, 
brave Norman, for more than thine aid in council and war ; 
— at leisure now to turn to the last prayer of Sweyn, and 


HAROLD 


213 


the often shed tears of Githa, my mother, for AVolnoth the 
exile. Thou seest with thine own eyes that there is no 
longer pretext or plea for thy Count to detain these hos- 
tages. Thou shalt hear from Edward himself that lie no 
longer asks sureties for the faith of the House of Godwin ; 
and I cannot think that Duke William would have suffered 
thee to bring me over this news from the dead if he were 
not prepared to do justice to the living.’ 

^Your speech, Earl of Wessex, goes near to the truth. 
But, to speak plainly and frankly, I think William, my lord, 
hath a keen desire to welcome in person a chief so illustrious 
as Harold, and I guess that he keeps the hostages to make 
thee come to claim them.’ The knight, as he spoke, smiled 
gaily ; hut the cunning of the Norman gleamed in the quick 
glance of his clear, hazel eye. 

‘ Fain must I feel pride at such wish, if you flatter me 
not,’ said Harold ; ‘ and I would gladly myself, now the 
land is in peace, and my presence not needful, visit a court 
of such fame. I hear high praise from cheapman and 
pilgrim of Count William’s wise care for barter and trade, 
and might learn much from the ports of the Seine that 
would profit the marts of the Thames. Much, too, I hear of 
Count William’s zeal to revive the learning of the Church, 
aided by Lanfranc the Lombard ; much I hear of the pomp 
of his buildings, and the grace of his court. All this would 
I cheerfully cross the ocean to see ; but all this would but 
sadden my heart if I returned without Haco and Wolnoth.’ 

^ I dare not speak so as to plight faith for the Duke,’ said 
the Norman, who, though sharp to deceive, had that rein on 
his conscience that it did not let him openly lie ; ‘ but this I 
do know, that there are few things in his Countdom which 
my lord would not give to clasp the right hand of Harold, 
and feel assured of his friendship.’ 

’Though wise and farseeing, Harold was not suspicious ; 
— no Englishman, unless it were Edward himself, knew the 
secret pretensions of William to the English throne ; and 
he answered simply — 

^ It were well, indeed, both for Normandy and England, 
both against foes and for trade, to be allied and well-liking. 
I will think over your words. Sire de Graville, and it shall 
not be my fault if old feuds be not forgotten, and those 
now in thy court be the last hostages ever kept by the 
Norman for the faith of the Saxon.’ 

With that he turned the discourse ; and the aspiring and 
able envoy, exhilarated by the hope of a successful mission, 
animated the way by remarks — alternately lively and shrewd 
— which drew the brooding Earl from those musings which 


214 HAROLD 

liad now grown habitual to a mind once clear and open as 
the day. 

Harold had not miscalculated the enthusiasm his victories 
had excited. Where he passed, all the towns poured forth 
their populations to see and to hail him ; and on arriving 
at the metropolis, the rejoicings in his honour seemed to 
equal those which had greeted, at the accession of Edward, 
the restoration of the line of Cerdic. 

According to the barbarous custom of the age, the head 
of the unfortunate sub-king, and the prow of his special 
war-ship, had been sent to Edward as the trophies of con- 
quest : but Harold’s uniform moderation respected the 
living, llie race of Gryffyth were re-established on the 
tributary throne of that hero, in the persons of his brothei*s, 
Blethgent and Rigwatle, ^and they swore oaths,’ says the 
graphic old chronicler, ^ and delivered hostages to the King 
and the Earl that they would be faithful to him in all things, 
and be everywhere ready for him, by water, and by land, 
and make such renders from the land as had been done 
before to any other king.’ 

Not long after this. Mallet de Graville returned to Nor- 
mandy, with gifts for William from King Edward, and 
special requests from that prince, as well as from the Earl, 
to restore the hostages. But Mallet’s acuteness readily 
perceived, that in much, Edw’ard’s mind had been alienated 
from William. It was clear, that the Duke’s marriage, and 
the pledges that had crowned the union, were distasteful 
to the asceticism of the saint-king : and with Godw in’s 
death, and Tostig’s absence from the court, seemed to have 
expired all Edward’s bitterness towards that pow'erful 
family of which Harold was now the head. Still, as no 
subject out of the house of Cerdic had ever yet been elected 
to the Saxon throne, there was no apprehension on Mallet’s 
mind that in Harold was the true rival to William’s 
cherished aspirations. Though Edward the Atheling was 
dead, his son Edgar lived, the natural heir to the throne ; 
and the Norman (whose liege had succeeded to the Duchy 
at the age of eight) was not sufficiently cognisant of the 
invariable custom of the Anglo-Saxons, to set aside, whether 
for kingdoms or for earldoms, all claimants unfitted for 
rule by their tender years. He could indeed perceive that 
the young Atheling’s minority w^as in favour of his Norman 
liege, and would render him but a weak defender of the 
realm, and that there seemed no popular attachment to the 
infant orphan of the Germanised exile : his name was never 
mentioned at the court, nor had Edward acknowledged him 
as heir — a circumstance which he interpreted auspiciously 


HAROLD 


21 o 


for William. Nevertheless, it was clear that, both at court 
and amongst the people, the Norman influence in England 
was at the lowest ebb ; and that the only man who could 
restore it, and realise the cherished dreams of his grasping 
lord, was Harold the all-powerful. 


CHAPTER III 

Trusting, for the time, to the success of Edward’s urgent 
demand for the release of his kinsmen, as well as his own, 
Harold was now detained at the court by all those arrears 
of business w'hich had accumulated fast under the inert 
hands of the monk-king during the prolonged campaigns 
against the Welch ; but he had leisure at least for frequent 
visits to the old Roman house ; and those visits were not 
more grateful to his love than to the harder and more 
engrossing passion which divided his heart. 

Tke nearer he grew to the dazzling object, to the posses- 
sion of which Fate seemed to have shaped all circumstances, 
the more he felt the charm of those mystic influences which 
his colder reason had disdained. He who is ambitious of 
things afar, and uncertain, passes at once into the Poet- 
Land of Imagination ; to aspire and to imagine are yearnings 
twin-horn. 

WTien in his fresh youth and his calm lofty manhood, 
Harold saw action, how adventurous soever, limited to the 
barriers of noble duty ; when he lived hut for his country, 
all spread clear before his vision in the sunlight of day ; 
hut as the barriers receded, while the horizon extended, 
his eye left the Certain to rest on the Vague. As self, 
though still half-concealed from his conscience, gradually 
assumed the wide space love of country had filled, the maze 
of delusion commenced : he was to shape fate out of circum- 
stance — no longer defy fate through virtue ; and thus 
Hilda became to him as a voice that answered the questions 
of his own restless heart. He needed encouragement from 
the Unknown to sanction his desires and confirm his ends. 
But Edith, rejoicing in the fair fame of her betrothed, and 
content in the pure rapture of beholding him again, reposed 
in the divine credulity of the happy hour ; she marked not, 
in Harold’s visits, that, on entrance, the Earl’s eye sought 
first the stern face of the Vala — she wondered not why those 
two conversed in whispers together, or stood so often at 
moonlight by the Runic grave. Alone, of all womankind, 
she felt that Harold loved her, that that love had braved 


21G 


HAROLD 


time, absence, change, and hope deferred ; — and she knew 
not that what love has most to dread in the wild heart of 
aspiring man, is not persons, but things — is not things, but 
their symbols. 

So weeks and months rolled on, and Duke William 
returned no answer to the demands for his hostages. And 
Harold’s heart smote him, that he neglected his brother’s 
prayer and his mother’s accusing tears. 

Now Githa, since the death of her husband, had lived in 
seclusion and apart from town ; and one day Harold was 
surprised by her unexpected arrival at the large timbered 
house in London, which had passed to his possession. As 
she abruptly entered the room in which he sate, he sprang 
forward to welcome and embrace her ; but she waved him 
back with a grave and mournful gesture, and, sinking on 
one knee, she said thus : — 

^See, the mother is suppliant to the son for the son. 
No, Harold, no — I will not rise till thou hast heard me. 
For years, long and lonely, have I lingered and pined, — 
long years ! Will my boy know his mother again ? Thou 
hast said to me, Wait till the messenger returns.” I have 
waited. Thou hast said, ‘^^This time the Count cannot 
resist the demand of the King.” 1 bowed my head and 
submitted to thee as I had done to Godwin my lord. And 
I have not till now claimed thy promise ; for I allowed thy 
country, thy King, and thy fame, to have claims more 
strong than a mother. Now I tarry no more ; now no 
more will I be amused and deceived. Thine hours are 
thine own — free thy coming and thy going. Harold, I 
claim thine oath. Harold, I touch thy right hand. Harold, 

I remind thee of thy troth and thy plight, to cross the seas 
thyself, and restore the child to the mother.’ 

Oh, rise, rise ! ’ exclaimed Harold, deeply moved. 

^ Patient hast thou been, O my mother, and now I will 
linger no more, nor hearken to other voice than your own. 

I will seek the King this day, and ask his leave to cross the 
sea to Duke William.’ 

Then Githa rose and fell on the Earl’s breast weeping. 


CHAPTER IV 

It so chanced, w'hile this interview took place betw'een 
Githa and the Earl, that Gurth, hawking in the wood- 
lands round Hilda’s house, turned aside to visit his Danisli 
kinswoman. The prophetess was absent, but he was told 


HAROLD 


217 


that Edith was within ; and Gurth^ about to be united to 
a maiden who had long won his noble affections, cherished 
a brother’s love for his brother’s fair betrothed. He entered 
the gynoecium, and there still, as when we were first made 
present in that chamber, sate the maids, employed on a 
work more brilliant to the eye, and more pleasing to the 
labour, than that which had then tasked their active hands. 
They were broidering into a tissue of the purest gold the 
effigy of a fighting w^arrior, designed by Hilda for the 
banner of Earl Harold : and, removed from the aw^e of their 
mistress, as they worked, their tongues sang gaily, and it 
w'as in the midst of song and laughter that the fair young 
Saxon lord entered the chamber. The babble and the mirth 
ceased at his entrance ; each voice was stilled, each eye cast 
dowm demurely. Edith was not amongst them, and, in 
answ'er to his inquiry, the eldest of the maidens pointed 
towards the peristyle without the house. 

The winning and kindly thegn paused a few moments, 
to admire the tissue and commend the work, and then 
sought the peristyle. 

Near the w^ater-spring that gushed free and bright 
through the Roman fountain, he found Edith, seated in 
an attitude of deep thought and gloomy dejection. She 
started as he approached, and, springing forw^ard to meet 
him, exclaimed — 

‘O Gui-th, Heaven hath sent thee to me, I know well, 
though I cannot explain to thee why, for I cannot explain 
it to myself ; but know I do, by the mysterious bodements 
of my ow n soul, that some great danger is at this moment 
encircling thy brother Harold. Go to him, I pray, I 
implore thee, forthwith ; and let thy clear sense and warm 
heart be by his side.’ 

will go instantly,’ said Gurth, startled. ^But do 
not suffer, I adjure thee, sweet kinswoman, the superstition 
that wraps this place, as a mist wraps a marsh, to infect thy 
pure spirit. In my early youth I submitted to the influence 
of Hilda ; I became man, and outgrew it. Much, secretly, 
has it grieved me of late, to see that our kinswoman’s 
Danish lore has brought even the strong heart of Harold 
under its spell ; and where once he only spoke of duty, I 
now hear him speak of fate.* 

^ Alas ! alas ! ’ answered Edith, wringing her hands ; 
^when the bird hides its head in the brake, doth it shut 
out the track of the hound } Can we baffle fate by refusing 
to heed its approaches.^ But we waste precious moments. 
Go, Gurth, dear Gurth ! Heavier and darker, w'hile we 
speak^ gathers the cloud on my heart,’ 


218 


HAROLD 


Gurth said no more, but hastened to remount his steed ; 
and Edith remained alone by the Roman fountain, motion- 
less and sad, as if the nymph of the old religion stood there 
to see the lessening stream well away from the shattered 
stone, and know that the life of the nymph was measured 
by the ebb of the stream. 

Gurth arrived in London just as Harold was taking boat 
for the palace of Westminster to seek the King ; and, 
after interchanging a hurried embrace with his mother, he 
accompanied Harold to the palace, and learned his errand 
by the way. While Harold spoke, he did not foresee any 
danger to be incurred by a friendly visit to the Norman 
court ; and the interval that elapsed between Harold’s 
communication and their entrance into the King’s chamber, 
allowed no time for mature and careful reflection. 

Edward, on whom years and infirmity had increased of 
late with rapid ravage, heard Harold’s request with a grave 
and deep attention, which he seldom vouchsafed to earthly 
affairs. And he remained long silent after his brother-in- 
law had finished ; — so long silent, that the Earl, at first, 
deemed that he was absorb^ed in one of those mystic and 
abstracted reveries, in which, more and more as he grew 
nearer to the borders of the World Unseen, Edward so 
strangely indulged. But, looking more close, both he and 
Gurth were struck by the evident dismay on the King’s 
face, while the collected light of Edward’s cold eye showed 
that his mind was awake to the human world. In truth, 
it is probable that Edward, at that moment, was recalling 
rash hints, if not promises, to his rapacious cousin of Nor- 
mandy, made during his exile. And, sensible of his own 
declining health, and the tender years of the young Edgar, 
he might be musing over the terrible pretender to the 
English throne, whose claims his earlier indiscretion might 
seem to sanction. Whatever his thoughts, they were dark 
and sinister, as at length he said slowly — 

^ Is thine oath indeed given to thy mother, and doth she 
keep thee to it ? ’ 

‘ Both, O King,’ answered Harold briefly. 

^Then I can gainsay thee not. And thou, Harold, art 
a man of this living world ; thou playest here the part of a 
centurion ; thou sayest Come,” and men come — Go,” and 
men move at thy will. Tlierefore thou mayest well judge 
for thyself. I gainsay thee not, nor interfere between man 
and his vow. But think not,’ continued the King in a 
more solemn voice, and with increasing emotion, ^ think 
not that I will charge my soul that I counselled or en- 
couraged this errand. Yea, I foresee that thy journey will 


HAROLD 


219 


lead but to great evil to England, and sore grief or dire loss 
to thee.’ 

^How so, dear lord and King?’ said Harold, startled 
by Edward’s unwonted earnestness, though deeming it but 
one of the visionary chimeras habitual to the saint. How 
so ? William thy cousin hath ever borne the name of one 
fair to friend, though fierce to foe. And foul indeed his 
dishonour, if he could meditate harm to a man trusting his 
faith, and sheltered by his own roof-tree.’ 

^Harold, Harold,’ said Edward impatiently, know 
William of old. Nor is he so simple of mind, that he will 
cede aught for thy pleasure, or even to my will, unless it 
bring some gain to himself. I say no more. — Thou art 
cautioned, and I leave the rest to Heaven.’ 

It is the misfortune of men little famous for worldly 
lore, that in those few occasions when, in that sagacity 
caused by their very freedom from the strife and passion 
of those around, they seem almost prophetically inspired, 
— it is their misfortune to lack the power of conveying to 
others their own convictions ; they may divine, but they 
cannot reason : and Harold could detect nothing to deter 
his purpose, in a vague fear, based on no other argument 
than as vague a perception of the duke’s general character. 
But Gurth, listening less to his reason than his devoted 
love for his brother, took alarm, and said, after a pause — 

^Thinkest thou, good my King, that the same danger 
were incurred if Gurth, instead of Harold, crossed the seas 
to demand the hostages ? ’ 

^No,’ said Edward, eagerly, ^and so would I counsel. 
William would not have the same objects to gain in prac- 
tising his w^orldly guile upon thee. No ; methinks that 
were the prudent course.’ 

^ And the ignoble one for Harold,’ said the elder brother 
almost indignantly. ^Howbeit, I thank thee gratefully, 
dear King, for thy affectionate heed and care. And so the 
saints guard thee ! ’ 

On leaving the King, a warm discussion between the 
brothers took place. But Gurth’s arguments were stronger 
than those of Harold, and the Earl was driven to rest his 
persistence on his own special pledge to Githa. As soon, 
however, as they had gained their home, that plea was 
taken from him ; for the moment Gurth related to his 
mother Edward’s fears and cautions, she, ever mindful of 
Godwin’s preference for the Earl, and his last commands 
to her, hastened to release Harold from his pledge ; and to 
implore him at least to suffer Gurth to be his substitute 
to the Norman court. ^ Listen dispassionately,’ said Gurth ; 


220 


HAROLD 


^rel)^ upon it that Edward has reasons for his fears, more 
rational than those he has given to us. He knows William 
from his youth upward, and hath loved him too well to 
hint doubts of his good faith without just foundation. Are 
there no reasons why danger from William should be 
special against thyself.^ While the Normans abounded in 
the court, there were rumours that the Duke had some 
designs on England, which Edward’s preference seemed to 
sanction : such designs now, in the altered state of England, 
were absurd — too frantic, for a prince of William’s reputed 
wisdom to entertain. Yet he may not unnaturally seek to 
regain the former Norman influence in these realms. He 
knows that in you he receives the most powerful man in 
England ; that your detention alone would convulse the 
country from one end of it to the other ; and enable him, 
perhaps, to extort from Edward some measures dishonour- 
able to us all. But against me he can harbour no ill design 
— my detention would avail him nothing. And, in truth, 
if Harold be safe in England, Gurth must be safe in Rouen ? 
Thy presence here at the head of our armies guarantees me 
from wrong. But reverse the case, and with Gurth in 
England, is Harold safe in Rouen ? I, but a simple soldier, 
and homely lord, with slight influence over Edward, no 
command in the country, and little practised of speech in 
the stormy Witan — I am just so great that William dare 
not harm me, but not so great that he should even wish 
to harm me.’ 

^ He detains our kinsmen, why not thee ! ’ said Harold. 

^Because with our kinsmen he has at least the pretext 
that they were pledged as hostages : because I go simply 
as guest and envoy. No, to me danger cannot come. Be 
ruled, dear Harold.’ 

^Be ruled, O my son,’ cried Githa, clasping the Earl’s 
knees, ^and do not let me dread in the depth of the 
night to see the shade of Godwin, and hear his voice say. 

Woman, where is Harold ? ” ’ 

It was impossible for the Earl’s strong understanding to 
resist the arguments addressed to it ; and, to say truth, he 
had been more disturbed than he liked to confess by 
Edward’s sinister forewarnings. Yet, on the other hand, 
there were reasons against his acquiescence in Gurth’s 
proposal. The primary, and to do him justice, the 
strongest, was in his native courage and his generous 
pride. Should he for the first time in his life shrink from 
a peril in the discharge of his duty ; a peril too, so un- 
certain and vague Should he suffer Gurth to fulfil the 
pledge he himself had taken And granting even that 


HAROLD 


221 


Gurtli were safe from whatever danger he individually 
might incur, did it become him to accept the proxy? 
Would Gurth’s voice, too, be as potent as his own in 
effecting the return of the hostages ? 

llie next reasons that swayed him were those he could 
not avow. In clearing his way to the English throne, it 
would be of no mean importance to secure the friendship 
of the Norman Duke, and the Norman acquiescence in his 
pretensions ; it w^ould be of infinite service to remove those 
prepossessions against his House which w^ere still rife with 
the Normans, who retained a bitter remembrance of their 
countrymen decimated, it was said, with the concurrence 
if not at the order of Godwin, when they accompanied the 
ill-fated Alfred to the English shore, and who were yet 
sore with their old expulsion from the English court at 
the return of his father and himself. 

Though it could not enter into his head that William, 
possessing no party whatever in England, could himself 
aspire to the English crowui, yet at Edward’s death there 
might be pretenders whom the Norman arms could find 
ready excuse to sanction. There was the boy Atheling, 
on the one side, there was the valiant Norwegian King 
Hardrada on the other, who might revive the claims of his 
predecessor Magnus as heir to the rights of Canute. So 
near and so formidable a neighbour as the Count of the 
Normans, every object of policy led him to propitiate ; and 
Gurth, with his unbending hate of all that was Norman, 
was not, at least, the most politic envoy he could select for 
that end. Add to this, that despite their present recon- 
ciliation, Harold could never long count upon amity with 
Tostig; and Tostig’s connection with William, through 
their marriages into the House of Baldwin, was full of 
danger to a new throne, to which Tostig would probably 
be the most turbulent subject: the influence of this con- 
nection how desirable to counteract ! 

Nor could Harold, who, as patriot and statesman, felt 
deeply the necessity of reform and regeneration in the 
decayed edifice of the English monarchy, willingly lose an 
occasion to witness all that William had done to raise so 
high in renown and civilisation, in martial fame and com- 
mercial prosperity, that petty duchy, which he had placed 
on a level with the kingdoms of the Teuton and the Frank. 
Lastly, the Normans were the special darlings of the 
Roman church. William had obtained the dispensation to 
his own marriage with Matilda ; and might not the Norman 
influence, duly conciliated, back the prayer which Harold 
trusted one day to address to the pontilF, and secure to 


222 


HAROLD 


him the hallowed blessing, without which ambition lost its 
charm, and even a throne its splendour ? 

All these considerations, therefore, urged the Earl to 
persist in his original purpose : but a warning voice in his 
heart, more powerful than all, sided with the prayer of 
Githa, and the arguments of Gurth. In this state of 
irresolution, Gurth said seasonably — 

^Bethink thee, Harold, if menaced but with peril to 
thyself, thou wouldst have a brave man’s right to resist us ; 
but it was of great evil to England ” that Edward spoke, 
and thy reflection must tell thee, that in this crisis of our 
country, danger to thee is evil to England — evil to England 
thou hast no right to incur.’ 

^Dear mother, and generous Gurth,’ said Harold, then 
joining the two in one embrace, ^ye have well nigh 
conquered. Give me but tv^o days to ponder well, and 
be assured that I will not decide from the rash promptings 
of an ill-considered judgment.’ 

Farther than this they could not then move the Earl ; 
but Gurth was pleased shortly afterwards to see him depart 
to Edith, whose fears, from whatever source they sprang, 
w^ould, he was certain, come in aid of his own pleadings. 

But as the Earl rode alone tow^ards the once stately 
home of the perished Roman, and entered at tw ilight the 
darkening forest-land, his thoughts w^ere less on Edith 
than on the Vala, with whom his ambition had more and 
more connected his soul. Perplexed by his doubts, and 
left dim in the waning lights of human reason, never more 
involuntarily did he fly to some guide to interpret the 
future and decide his path. 

As if fate itself responded to the cry of his heart, he 
suddenly came in sight of Hilda herself, gathering leaves 
from elm and ash amidst the w oodland. 

He sprang from his horse and approached her. 

'Hilda,’ said he in a low but firm voice, 'thou hast 
often told me that the dead can advise the living. Raise 
thou the Scin-laeca of the hero of old — raise the Ghost, 
which mine eye, or my fancy, beheld before, vast and dim 
by the silent bautastein, and I will stand by thy side. Fain 
would I know' if thou hast deceived me and thyself; or if, 
in truth, to man’s guidance Heaven doth vouchsafe saga 
and rede from those who have passed into the secret shores 
of Eternity.’ 

' The dead,’ answered Hilda, ' will not reveal themselves 
to eyes uninitiate save at their own will, uncompelled by 
charm and rune. To me their forms can appear distinct 
through the airy flame ; to me, duly prepared by spells that 


HAROLD 


223 


purge the eye of the spirit, and loosen the walls of the 
flesh. I cannot say that what I see in the trance and the 
travail of my soul, thou also wilt behold ; for even when 
the vision hath passed from my sight, and the voice from 
my ear, only memories, confused and dim, of what I saw 
and heard, remain to guide the waking and common life. 
But thou shalt stand by my side while I invoke the 
phantom, and hear and interpret the words which rush 
from my lips, and the runes that take meaning from the 
sparks of the charmed fire. I knew ere thou earnest, by 
the darkness and trouble of Edith’s soul, that some shade 
from the Ash -tree of Life had fallen upon thine.’ 

Then Harold related what had passed, and placed before 
Hilda the doubts that beset him. 

The Prophetess listened with earnest attention ; but her 
mind, when not under its more mystic influences, being 
strongly biassed by its natural courage and ambition, she 
saw at a glance all the advantages towards securing the 
throne predestined to Harold, which might be affected by 
his visit to the Norman court, and she held in too great 
disdain both the worldly sense and the mystic reveries of 
the monkish king (for the believer in Odin was naturally 
incredulous of the visitation of the Christian saints) to 
attach much weight to his dreary predictions. 

The short reply she made was therefore not calculated 
to deter Harold from the expedition in dispute. But she 
deferred till the following night, and to m isdom more dread 
than her own, the counsels that should sway his decision. 

\V''ith a strange satisfaction at the thought that he should, 
at least, test personally the reality of those assumptions of 
preternatural power which had of late coloured his resolves 
and oppressed his heart, Harold then took leave of the 
Vala, m Iio returned mechanically to her employment ; and, 
leading his horse by the rein, slowly continued his musing 
way towards the green knoll and its heathen ruins. But 
ere he gained the hillock, and while his thoughtful eyes 
were bent on the ground, he felt his arm seized tenderly 
— turned — and beheld Edith’s face full of unutterable and 
anxious love. 

With that love, indeed, there was blended so much wist- 
fulness, so much fear, that Harold exclaimed — 

* Soul of my soul, what hath chanced } what affects thee 
thus } ’ 

^ Hath no danger befallen thee } ’ asked Edith falteringly, 
and gazing on his face with wistful, searching eyes. 

^Danger ! none, sweet trembler,’ answered the Earl 
evasively. 


224 


HAROLD 


Edith dropped her eager looks, and clinging to his arm, 
drew him silently into the forest-land. She paused at 
last where the old fantastic trees shut out the view of the 
ancient rums ; and when, looking round, she saw not those 
grey gigantic shafts which mortal hand seemed never to 
have piled together, she breathed more freely. 

^ Speak to me,’ then said Harold, bending his face to 
hers ; ^ why this silence ? ’ 

^ Ah, Harold ! ’ answered his betrothed, ^ thou knowest 
that ever since we have loved one another, my existence 
hath been but a shadow of thine ; by some weird and 
strange mystery, which Hilda would explain by the stars 
or the fates, that have made me a part of thee, I know by 
the lightness or gloom of my own spirit when good or ill 
shall befall thee. How often, in thine absence, hath a joy 
suddenly broke upon me ; and I felt by that joy, as by the 
smile of a good angel, that thou hadst passed safe through 
some peril, or triumphed over some foe ! And now thou 
askest me why I am so sad ; — I can only answer thee by 
saying, that the sadness is cast upon me by some thunder 
gloom on thine own destiny.’ 

Harold had sought Edith to speak of his meditated 
journey, but seeing her dejection he did not dare ; so he 
drew her to his breast, and chid her soothingly for her 
vain apprehensions. But Edith would not be comforted ; 
there seemed something weighing on her mind and strug- 
gling to her lips, not accounted for merely by sympathetic 
forebodings ; and at length, as he pressed her to tell all, 
she gathered courage and spoke — 

^Do not mock me,’ she said, ^but wLat secret, wdiether 
of vain folly or of meaning fate, should I hold from thee ? 
All this day I struggled in vain against the heaviness of 
my forebodings. How I hailed the sight of Gurth thy 
brother ! I besought him to seek thee — thou hast seen 
him.’ 

*1 have ! ’ said Harold. ^But thou wert about to tell me 
of something more than this dejection.’ 

^Well,’ resumed Edith, ^ after Gurth left me, my feet 
sought involuntarily the hill on which w^e have met so often. 
I sate down near the old tomb, a strange weariness crept on 
my eyes, and a sleep that seemed not wholly sleep fell over 
me. I struggled against it, as if conscious of some coming 
terror; and as I struggled, and ere 1 slept, Harold — yes, 
ere I slept — I saw distinctly a pale and glimmering figure 
rise from the Saxon’s grave. I saw — I see it still ! Oh, 
that livid front, those glassy eyes ! ’ 

^ The figure of a warrior ? ’ said Harold, startled. 


HAROLD 


225 


^ Of a warrior, armed as in ancient days, armed like the 
warrior that Hilda’s maids are working for thy banner. I 
saw it ; and in one hand it held a spear, and in the other a 
crown.’ 

crown ! — Say on, say on.’ 

^ 1 saw no more ; sleep, in spite of myself, fell on me, a 
sleep full of confused and painful — rapid and shapeless 
images, till at last this dream rose clear. I beheld a bright 
and starry shape, that seemed as a spirit, yet wore thine 
aspect, standing on a rock ; and an angry torrent rolled 
between the rock and the dry safe land. ITie waves began 
to invade the rock, and the spirit unfurled its wings as to 
flee. And then foul things climbed up from the slime of the 
rock, and descended from the mists of the troubled skies, 
and they coiled round the wings and clogged them. 

^ Then a voice cried in my ear — Seest thou not on the 
perilous rock the Soul of Harold the Brave ? — seest thou not 
that the waters engulf it, if the wings fail to flee.^ Up, 
Truth, whose strength is in purity, whose image is woman, 
and aid the soul of the brave ! ” I sought to spring to thy 
side; but I was powerless, and behold, close beside me, 
through my sleep as through a veil, appeared the shafts of 
the ruined temple in which I lay reclined. And, methought, 
I saw Hilda sitting alone by the Saxon’s grave, and pouring 
from a crystal vessel black drops into a human heart which 
she held in her hands : and out of that heart grew a child, 
and out of that child a youth, with dark mournful brow. 
And the youth stood by thy side and whispered to thee : 
and from his lips there came a reeking smoke, and in that 
smoke as in a blight the wings withered up. And I heard 
the Voice say — Hilda, it is thou that hast destroyed the 
good angel, and reared from the poisoned heart the loath- 
some tempter ! ” And I cried aloud, but it was too late ; 
the weaves swept over thee, and above the waves there floated 
an iron helmet, and on the helmet was a golden crowm — the 
crown I had seen in the hand of the spectre ! ’ 

‘^But this is no evil dream, my Edith,’ said Harold gaily. 

Edith, unheeding him, continued — 

'I started from my sleep. The sun was still high — the 
air lulled and windless. Then through the shafts and down 
the' hill there glided in that clear waking daylight, a grisly 
shape like that which I have heard our maidens say the 
w'itch-hags, sometimes seen in the forest, assume ; yet in 
truth, it seemed neither of man nor woman. It turned its 
face once towards me, and on that hideous face were the 
glee and hate of a triumphant fiend. Oh, Harold, what 
should all this portend ? ’ 

p 


226 HAROLD 

‘Hast thou not asked thy kinswoman, the diviner of 
dreams?’ 

"I asked Hilda^ and she, like thee, only murmured ^^The 
Saxon crown ! ” But if there be faith in those airy children 
of the night, surely, O adored one, the vision forebodes 
danger, not to life, but to soul ; and the words I heard 
seemed to say that thy wings were thy valour, and the 
Fylgia thou hadst lost w'as — no, that were impossible ’ 

^ That my Fylgia was Truth, which losing, I w^ere indeed 
lost to thee. Thou dost well,’ said Harold loftily, ^ to hold 
that among the lies of the fancy. All else may, perchance, 
desert me, but never mine own free soul. Self-reliant hath 
Hilda called me in mine earlier days, and — wherever fate 
casts me — in my truth, and my love, and my dauntless 
heart, I dare both man and the fiend.’ 

Edith gazed a moment in devout admiration on the mien 
of her hero-lover, then she drew close and closer to his 
breast, consoled and believing. 


CHAPTER V 

W iTH all her persuasion of her own powers in penetrating 
the future, we have seen that Hilda had never consulted her 
oracles on the fate of Harold, without a dark and awful 
sense of the ambiguity of their responses. That fate, in- 
volving the mightiest interests of a great race, and connected 
with events operating on the farthest times and the remotest 
lands, lost itself to her prophetic ken amidst omens the 
most contradictory, shadows and lights the most conflicting, 
meshes the most entangled. Her human heart, devotedly 
attached to the Earl through her love for Edith — her pride 
obstinately bent on securing to the last daughter of her 
princely race that throne, which all her vaticinations, even 
when most gloomy, assured her was destined to the man 
with whom Edith’s doom was interwoven, combined to induce 
her to the most favourable interpretation of all that seemed 
sinister and doubtful. But according to the tenets of that 
peculiar form of magic cultivated by Hilda, the compre- 
nension became obscured by whatever partook of human 
sympathy. It was a magic wholly distinct from the malig- 
nant witchcraft more popularly known to us, and which 
was equally common to the Germanic and Scandinavian 
heathens. 

The magic of Hilda was rather akin to the old Cimbrian 
Alirones, or sacred prophetesses; and, as with them, it 


HAROLD 


227 


demanded the priestess — that is, the person without human 
ties or emotions, a spirit clear as a mirror, upon which the 
great images of destiny might be cast untroubled. 

However the natural gifts and native character of Hilda 
might be perverted by the visionary and delusive studies 
habitual to her, there was in her very infirmities a grandeur, 
not without its pathos. In this position which she had 
assumed between the earth and the heaven, she stood so 
solitary and in such chilling air — all the doubts that beset 
her lonely and daring soul came in such gigantic forms of 
terror and menace ! — On the verge of the mighty Heathenesse 
sinking fast into the night of ages, she towered amidst the 
shades, a shade herself ; and round her gathered the last 
demons of the Dire Belief, defying the march of their 
luminous foe, and concentering round their mortal priestess, 
the w'recks of their horrent empire over a world redeemed. 

All the night that succeeded her last brief conference 
with Harold, the Vala wandered through the wild forest- 
land, seeking haunts or employed in collecting herbs, hal- 
lowed to her dubious yet solemn lore ; and the last stars 
were receding into the cold grey skies, when, returning 
homeward, she beheld within the circle of the Druid temple 
a motionless object, stretched on the ground near the 
Teuton’s grave ; she approached, and perceived what seemed 
a corpse, it was so still and stiff in its repose, and the face 
upturned to the stars was so haggard and death-like ; — a face 
horrible to behold ; the evidence of extreme age was written 
on the shrivelled livid skin and the deep furrows, but the 
expression retained that intense malignity w^hich belongs to 
a power of life that extreme age rarely knows. The garb, 
which was that of a remote fashion, was foul and ragged, 
and neither by the garb, nor by the face, was it easy to 
guess what w^as the sex of this seeming corpse. But by a 
strange and peculiar odour that rose from the form, and a 
certain glistening on the face, and the lean folded hands, 
Hilda knew that the creature was one of those witches, 
esteemed of all the most deadly and abhorred, who, by the 
application of certain ointments, w ere supposed to possess 
the art of separating soul from body, and, leaving the last as 
dead, to dismiss the first to the dismal orgies of the Sabbat. 
It was a frequent custom to select for the place of such 
trances, heathen temples and ancient graves. And Hilda 
seated herself beside the witch to await the waking. The 
cock crowed thrice, heavy mists began to arise from the 
glades, covering the gnarled roots of the forest trees, when 
the dread face on which Hilda calmly gazed, showed 
symptoms of returning life ! a strong convulsion shook the 


228 


HAROLD 


vague indefinite form under its huddled garments,, the eyes 
opened, closed — opened again ; and what had a few moments 
before seemed a dead thing, sate up and looked round. 

^Wicca,’ said the Danish prophetess, with an accent 
between contempt and curiosity, ^for what mischief to 
beast or man hast thou followed the noiseless path of the 
Dreams through the airs of Night ? ’ 

The creature gazed hard upon the questioner, from its 
bleared but fiery eyes, and replied slowly, ^Hail, Hilda, 
the Morthwyrtha ! why art thou not of us, why comest 
thou not to our revels.^ Gay sport have we had to-night 
with Faul and Zabulus ; but gayer far shall our sport be 
in the wassail hall of Senlac, when thy grandchild shall 
come in the torchlight to the bridal bed of her lord. A 
buxom bride is Edith the Fair, and fair looked her face in 
her sleep on yester noon, when I sate by her side, and 
breathed on her brow, and murmured the verse that blackens 
the dream ; but fairer still shall she look in her sleep by 
her lord. Ha ! ha ! Ho ! we shall be there, with Zabulus 
and Faul ; we shall be there ! ’ 

‘ How ! ’ said Hilda, thrilled to learn that the secret 
ambition she cherished was known to this loathed sister in 
the art. ^How dost thou pretend to that mystery of the 
future, which is dim and clouded even to me? Canst thou 
tell when and where the daughter of the Norse kings shall 
sleep on the breast of her lord ? ’ 

A sound that partook of laughter, but was so unearthly 
in its malignant glee that it seemed not to come from a 
human lip, answered the Vala ; and as the laugh died the 
witch rose, and said — 

^Go and question thy dead, O Morthwyrtha! Thou 
deemest thyself wiser than we are ; we wretched hags, whom 
the ceorl seeks when his herd has the murrain, or the girl 
when her false love forsakes her ; we, who have no dwelling 
known to man, but are found at need in the wold or the 
cave, or the side of dull slimy streams where the murderess- 
mother hath drowned her babe. Askest thou, O Hilda, the 
rich and the learned, askest thou counsel and lore from the 
daughter of Faul ? ’ 

^No,’ answered the Vala haughtily, ^not to such as thou, 
do the great Nornas unfold the future. What knowest thou 
of the runes of old, wdiispered bv the trunkless skull to the 
mighty Odin? runes that control the elements, and conjure 
up the Shining Shadows of the grave. Not with thee will 
the stars confer ; and thy dreams are foul with revelries 
obscene, not solemn and haunted with the bodements of 
things to come ! Only I marvelled, while I beheld thee on 


HAROLD 


229 


the Saxon’s grave, what joy such as thou can find in that life 
above life, which draws upward the soul of the true Vala.’ 

^The joy,’ replied the Witch, Hhe joy which comes from 
wisdom and power, higher than you ever won with your 
spells from the rune or the star. W rath gives the venom to 
the slaver of the dog, and death to the curse of the Witch. 
When wilt thou be as wise as the hag thou despisest } When 
will all the clouds that beset thee roll away from thy ken ? 
When thy hopes are all crushed, when thy passions lie dead, 
when thy pride is abased, w hen thou art but a wreck, like 
the shafts of this temple, through which the starlight can 
shine. Then only, thy soul will see clearly the sense of the . 
runes, and then, thou and I will meet on the verge of the 
Black Shoreless Sea ! ’ 

So, despite all her haughtiness and disdain, did these 
words startle the lofty Prophetess, that she remained gazing 
into space long after that fearful apparition had vanished, 
and up from the grass, which those obscene steps had pro- 
faned, sprang the lark carolling. 

But ere the sun had dispelled the dews on the forest 
sward, Hilda had recovered her wonted calm, and, locked 
within her own secret chamber, prepared the seid and the 
runes for the invocation of the dead. 


CHAPTER VI 

Resolving, should the auguries consulted permit him to 
depart, to intrust Gurth with the charge of informing 
Edith, Harold parted from his betrothed, without hint of 
his suspended designs ; and he passed the day in making 
all preparations for his absence and his journey, promising 
Gurth to give his final answer on the morrow — when 
either himself or his brother should depart for Rouen. 
But more and more impressed with the arguments of Gurth, 
and his own sober reason, and somewhat perhaps influenced 
by the forebodings of Edith (for that mind, once so con- 
stitutionally firm, had become tremulously alive to such airy 
influences), he had almost predetermined to assent to his 
brother’s prayer, when he departed to keep his' dismal 
appointment with the Morthwyrtha. The night was dim, 
but not dark ; no moon shone, but the stars, wan though 
frequent, gleamed pale, as from the farthest deeps of the 
heaven ; clouds grey and fleecy rolled slowly across the 
welkin, veiling and disclosing, by turns, the melancholy 
orbs. 


230 


HAROLD 


The Mortliwyrtha, in her dark dress, stood witliin the 
circle of stones. She had already kindled a fire at the foot 
of the bautastein, and its glare shone redly on the grey 
shafts ; playing through their forlorn gaps upon the sward. 
By her side was a vessel, seemingly of pure water, filled 
from the old Roman fountain, and its clear surface flashed 
blood-red in the beams. Behind them, in a circle round 
both fire and water, were fragments of bark, cut in a peculiar 
form, like the head of an arrow, and inscribed with the 
mystic letters ; nine were the fragments, and on each frag- 
ment were graved the runes. In her right hand the Morth- 
wyrtha held her seid staff, her feet were bare, and her loins 
girt by the Hunnish belt inscribed with mystic letters ; from 
the belt hung a pouch or gipsire of bearskin, with plates of 
silver. Her face, as Harold entered the circle, had lost its 
usual calm — it was wild and troubled. 

She seemed unconscious of Harold’s presence, and her eye, 
fixed and rigid, was as that of one in a trance. Slowly, as if 
constrained by some power not her own, she began to move 
round the ring with a measured pace, and at last her voice 
broke low, hollow and internal, into a rugged chant, which 
may be thus imperfectly translated — 

‘ By the Urdar-fount dwelling, 

Day by day from the rill, 

The Nornas besprinkle 
The ash Ygg-drassill. 

The hart bites the buds. 

And the snake gnaws the root. 

But the eagle all-seeing 
Keeps watch on the fruit. 

‘ These drops on thy tomb 
From the fountain I pour ; 

With the rune I invoke thee. 

With flame I restore. 

Dread Father of men. 

In the land of thy grave. 

Give voice to the Vala, 

And light to the Brave.’ 

As she thus chanted, the Mortliwyrtha now' sprinkled 
the drops from the vessel over the bautastein — now, one by 
one, cast the fragments of bark scrawled with runes on the 
fire. 'Hien, w'hether or not some glutinous or other chemical 
material had been mingled in the water, a pale gleam broke 
from the grave-stone thus besprinkled, and the whole tomb 
glistened in the light of the leaping fire. From this light 
a mist or thin smoke gradually rose, and took, though 
vaguely, the outline of a vast human form. But so in- 
definite was the outline to Harold’s eye, that gazing on it 


HAROLD 


231 


steadily, and stilling with strong effort his loud heart, he 
knew not whether it was a phantom or a vapour that he 
beheld. 

The Vala paused, leaning on her staff, and gazing in awe 
on the glowing stone, while the Earl, wdth his arms, folded 
on his broad breast, stood hushed and motionless. The 
sorceress recommenced — 

‘ Mighty dead, I revere thee, 

Dim-shaped from the cloud, 

"With the light of thy deeds 
For the web of thy shroud ! 

‘ As Odin consulted 

Mimir’s skull hollow-eyed, 

Odin’s heir comes to seek 
In the Phantom a guide.’ 

As the Morthwyrtha ceased, the fire crackled loud, and 
from its flame flew one of the fragments of bark to the feet 
of the sorceress : — the runic letters all indented with sparks. 

The sorceress uttered a loud cry, which, despite his 
courage and his natural strong sense, thrilled through the 
Earl’s heart to his marrow and bones, so appalling was it 
with wrath and terror ; and while she gazed aghast on the 
blazing letters, she burst forth — 

‘ No warrior art thou. 

And no child of the tomb ; 

I know thee, and shudder. 

Great Asa of Doom. 

‘ Thou constrainest my lips. 

And thou crushest my spell ; 

Bright Son of the Giant — 

Dark Father of Hell ! ’ 

The whole form of the Morthwyrtha then became convulsed 
and agitated, as if with the tempest of frenzy; the foam 
gathered to her lips, and her voice rang forth like a shriek — 

‘In the Iron Wood rages 
The Weaver of Harm, 

The giant Blood-drinker 
Hag-born Manaoarm. 

‘ A keel nears the shoal ; 

From the slime and the mud 
Crawl the newt and the adder, 

The spawn of the flood. 

‘ Thou stand’st on the rock 

Where the dreamer beheld thee. 

O soul, spread thy wings. 

Ere the glamour hath spell’d thee. 


HAROLD 


232 

‘ O, dread is the tempter, 

And strong the control ; 

' ‘ But conquered the tempter, 

If firm be the soul ! ’ 

The Vala paused ; and though it was evident that in her 
frenzy she was still unconscious of Harold’s presence, and 
seemed but to be the compelled and passive voice to some 
Power, real or imaginary, beyond her own existence, the 
proud man approached and said — 

^ Firm shall be my soul ; nor of the dangers which beset 
it would I ask the dead or the living. If plain answers to 
mortal sense can come from these airy shadows or these 
mystic charms, reply, O interpreter of fate ; reply but to 
the questions I demand. If I go to the court of the Norman, 
shall I return unscathed ? ’ 

The Vala stood rigid as a shape of stone while Harold 
thus spoke ; and her voice came so low and strange as if 
forced from her scarce-moving lips — 

^Thou shalt return unscathed.’ 

^ Shall the hostages of Godwin, my father, be released ? ’ 

‘ The hostages of Godwin shall be released,’ answered the 
same voice ; ^the hostage of Harold be retained.’ 

^ Wherefore hostage from me ? ’ 

^In pledge of alliance with the Norman.’ 

‘ Ha ! then the Norman and Harold shall plight friendship 
and troth ? ’ 

^ Yes ! ’ answered the Vala ; but this time a visible shudder 
passed over her rigid form. 

^Two questions more, and I have done. The Norman 
priests have the ear of the Roman Pontiff. Shall my league 
with William the Norman avail to win me my bride ? ’ 

^It will win thee the bride thou wouldst never have 
wedded but for thy league with William the Norman. 
Peace with thy questions, peace ! ’ continued the voice, 
trembling as with some fearful struggle ; ^ for it is the 
Demon that forces my words, and they wither my soul to 
speak them.’ 

^ But one question more remains ; shall I live to w ear the 
crown of England ; and if so, when shall I be a king ? ’ 

At these words the face of the Prophetess kindled, the 
fire suddenly leapt up higher and brighter ; again, vivid 
sparks lighted the runes on the fragments of bark that M^ere 
shot from the flame ; over these last the Morthwyrtha bowed 
her head, and then, lifting it, triumphantly burst once more 
into song. 

‘When the Wolf Month, grim and still, 

Heaps the snow-mass on the hill ; 


HAROLD 


233 


When, through white air, sharp and bitter, 

Mocking sunbeams freeze and glitter ; 

When the ice-gems bright and barbed 
Deck the boughs the leaves had garbed ; 

Then the measure shall be meted. 

And the circle be completed. 

Cerdic’s race, the Thor-descended, 

In the Monk-king’s tomb be ended ; 

And no Saxon brow but thine 
Wear the crown of Woden’s line. 

‘ Where thou wendest, wend unfearing, ■ 

Every step thy throne is nearing. ^ 

Fraud may plot, and force assail thee — 

Shall the soul thou trustest fail thee ! 

If it fail thee, scornful hearer. 

Still the throne shines near and nearer. 

Guile with guile oppose, and never 
Crown and brow shall Force dissever : 

Till the dead men unforgiving 
Loose the war steeds on the living ; 

Till a sun whose race is ending 
Sees the rival stars contending ; 

Where the dead men unforgiving. 

Wheel the war steeds round the living. 

‘ Where thou wendest, wend unfearing ; 

Every step thy throne is nearing. 

Never shall thy house decay, 

Nor thy sceptre pass away. 

While the Saxon name endureth 
In the land thy throne secureth ; 

Saxon name and throne together. 

Leaf and root, shall wax and wither ; 

So the measure shall be meted. 

And the circle close completed. 

‘ Art thou answered, dauntless seeker ? 

. Go, thy bark shall ride the breaker. 

Every billow high and higher. 

Waft thee up to thy desire ; 

And a force beyond thine own, 

Drift and strand thee on the throne. 

‘When the Wolf Month, grim and still. 

Piles the snow-mass on the hill. 

In the white air sharp and bitter 
Shall thy kingly sceptre glitter : 

When the ice-gems barb the bough 
Shall the jewels clasp thy brow ; 

Winter-wind, the oak uprending, 

With the altar-anthem blending ; 

Wind shall howl, and mone shall sing, 

“Hail to Harold — Hail the Kino ! ” ’ 

An exultation that seemed more than human_, so intense 
it was and so solemn, — thrilled in the voice which thus 


V -A-s 


234 


HAROLD 


closed predictions that seemed signally to belie the more 
vague and menacing warnings with which the dreary incan- 
tation had commenced. The Moi*thwyrtha stood erect and 
stately, still gazing on the pale blue flame that rose from the 
burial stone, till slowly the flame waned and paled, and at 
last died with a sudden flicker, leaving the grey tomb stand- 
ing forth all weatherworn and desolate, while a wind rose 
from the north and sighed through the roofless columns. 
Then as the light over the grave expired, Hilda gave a deep 
sigh, and fell to the ground senseless. 

Harold lifted his eyes towards the stars and murmured — 

^ If it be a sin, as the priests say, to pierce the dark walls 
which surround us here, and read the future in the dim 
world beyond, why gavest thou, O Heaven, the reason, 
never resting, save when it explores ? Why hast thou set 
in the heart the mystic Law of Desire, ever toiling to the 
High, ever grasping at the Far.^’ 

Heaven answered not the unquiet soul. The clouds passed 
to and fro in their wanderings, the wind still sighed through 
the hollow stones, the fire shot with vain sparks towards the 
distant stars. In the cloud and the wind and the fire 
couldst thou read no answer from Heaven, unquiet soul ? 

The next day, with a gallant company, the falcon on his 
wrist, the sprightly hound gambolling before his steed, blithe 
of heart and high in hope, Earl Harold took his way to the 
Norman court. 


II 


BOOK IX 

THE BONES OP THE DEAD 

CHAPTER I 


William, Count of the Normans, sate in a fair chamber of 
his palace of Rouen ; and on the large table before him were 
ample evidences of the various labours, as warrior, chief, 
thinker, and statesman, which filled the capacious breadth 
of that sleepless mind. 

There, lay a plan of the new port of Cherbourg, and 
beside it an open ms. of the Duke’s favourite book, the 
Commentaries of Cassar, from which, it is said, he borrowed 
some of the tactics of his own martial science ; marked, and 
dotted, and interlined with his large bold handwriting, were 
the words of the great Roman. A score or so of long arrows, 
which had received some skilful improvement in feather or 
bolt, lay carelessly scattered over some architectural sketches 
of a new Abbey Church, and the proposed charter for its en- 
dowment. An open cyst, of the beautiful workmanship for 
which the English goldsmiths were then pre-eminently 
renowned, that had been among the parting gifts of Edward, 
contained letters from the various potentates near and far, 
who sought his alliance or menaced his repose. 

On a perch behind him sate his favourite Norway falcon, 
unhooded, for it had been taught the finest polish in its 
dainty education — viz., ^ to face company undisturbed.’ At 
a kind of easel at the farther end of the hall, a dwarf, 
misshapen in limbs, but of a face singularly acute and 
intelligent, w’as employed in the outline of that famous 
action at Val des Dunes, which had been the scene of one of 
the most brilliant of William’s feats in arms — an outline 
intended to be transfeiTed to the notable ^stitchwork’ of 
Matilda the Duchess. 

Upon the floor, playing with a huge boar-hound of English 
breed, that seemed but ill to like the play, and every now 


230 


HAROLD 


and then snarled and showed his white teeth^ was a young 
boy, with something of the Duke’s features, but with an 
expression more open and less sagacious ; and something 
of the Duke’s broad build of chest and shoulder, but without 
promise of the Duke’s stately stature, which was needed to 
give grace and dignity to a strength otherwise cumbrous and 
graceless. And indeed, since William’s visit to England, 
his athletic shape had lost much of its youthful symmetry, 
though not yet deformed by that corpulence which was a 
disease almost as rare in the Norman as the Spartan. Never- 
theless, what is a defect in the gladiator is often but a beauty 
in the prince ; and the Duke’s large proportions filled the 
eye with a sense both of regal majesty and physical powder. 
His countenance, yet more than his form, showed the w'ork 
of time ; the short dark hair was worn into partial baldness 
at the temples by the habitual friction of the casque, and 
the constant indulgence of wily stratagem and ambitious 
craft had deepened the wu-inkles round the plotting eye and 
the firm mouth : so that it was only by an effort like that of 
an actor, that his aspect regained the knightly and noble 
frankness it had once worn. The accomplished prince was no 
longer, in truth, what the bold warrior had been — he w as 
greater in state and less in soul. And already, despite all 
his grand qualities as a ruler, his imperious nature had 
betrayed signs of what he (whose constitutional sternness the 
Norman freemen, not without effort, curbed into the limits 
of justice) might become, if wider scope were afforded to his 
fiery passions and unsparing will. 

Before the Duke, who was leaning his chin on his hand, 
stood Mallet de Graville, speaking earnestly, and his discourse 
seemed both to interest and please his lord. 

^ Eno’ ! ’ said William, ‘ I comprehend tlie nature of tlie 
land and its men — a land that, untaught by experience, and 
persuaded that a peace of tw enty or thirty years must last 
till the crack of doom, neglects all its defences, and lias not 
one fort, save Dover, betw^een the coast and the capital — a 
land which must be won or lost by a single battle, and men ’ 
(here the Duke hesitated), ^and men/ he resumed with a sigh, 

^ whom it will be so hard to conquer, that, pardex, I don’t 
wonder they neglect their fortresses. Enough, I say, of them. 
Let us return to Harold — thou thinkest, then, that he is 
w orthy of his fame } ’ 

‘ He is almost the only Englishman I have seen,’ answered 
De Graville, ^who^ hath received scholarly rearing and 
nurture ; and all his faculties are so evenly balanced, and 
all accompanied by so composed a calm, that methinks, 
when I look at and hear him, I contemplate some artful 


HAROLD 237 

castle — the strength of which can never be known at the 
first glance, nor except by those who assail it.’ 

^ Thou art mistaken. Sire de Graville,’ said the Duke, with 
a shrew’d and cunning twinkle of his luminous dark eyes. 
^ For thou tellest me that he hath no thought of my preten- 
sions to the English throne — that he inclines willingly to 
thy suggestions to come himself to my court for the hostages 
— that, in a word, he is not suspicious.’ 

^ Certes, he is not suspicious,^ returned Mallet. 

‘ And thinkest thou that an artful castle were worth much 
without warder or sentry — or a cultivated mind strong and 
safe, without its watchman — Suspicion } ’ 

^ Truly, my lord speaks well and wisely,’ said the knight, 
startled ; but Harold is a man thoroughly English, and 
the English are a gens the least suspecting of any created 
thing between an angel and a sheep.’ 

William laughed aloud. But his laugh was checked 
suddenly ; for at that moment a fierce yell smote his ears, 
and looking hastily up, he saw his hound and his son rolling 
together on the ground, in a grapple that seemed deadly. 

William sprang to the spot ; but the boy, who was then 
under the dog, cried out, ^ Laissez aller ! Laissez aller ! no 
rescue ! I will master my own foe ’ ; and, so saying, with a 
vigorous effoi-t he gained his knee, and with both hands 
griped the hound’s throat, so that the beast twisted in vain 
to and fro, with gnashing jaws, and in another minute would 
have panted out its last. 

^ I may save my good hound now,’ said William with the 
gay smile of his earlier days, and, though not without some 
exertion of his prodigious strength, he drew' the dog from 
his son’s grasp. 

^That was ill done, father,’ said Robert, surnamed even 
then the Courthose, ^to take part with thy son’s foe.’ 

‘ But my son’s foe is thy father’s property, my millanty 
said the Duke ; ^ and thou must answer to me for treason 
in provoking quarrel and feud with my own four-footed 
vavasour.’ 

^ It is not thy property, father ; thou gavest the dog to me 
w'hen a whelp.’ 

^ Fables, Monseigneur de Courthose ; 1 lent it to thee but 
for a day, when thou hadst put out thine ankle bone in 
jumping off the rampire ; and all maimed as thou wert, thou 
hadst still malice enow in thee to worry the poor beast into 
a fever.’ 

^ Gave or lent, it is the same thing, father ; w’hat I have 
once, that will I hold, as thou didst before me, in thy 
cradle.’ 


238 


HAROLD 


Then the great Duke^ who in liis own house was the 
fondest and weakest of men, was so doltish and doting as to 
take the boy in his arms and kiss him — nor, with all his 
far-sighted sagacity, deemed he that in that kiss lay the seed 
of the awful curse that grew up from a father’s agony, to end 
in a son’s misery and perdition. 

Even Mallet de Graville frowned at the sight of the sire’s 
infirmity — even Turold the dwarf shook his head. At that 
moment an officer entered, and announced that an English 
nobleman, apparently in great haste (for his horse had dropped 
down dead as he dismounted), had arrived at the palace, and 
craved instant audience of the Duke. William put down 
the boy, gave the brief order for the stranger’s admission, 
and, punctilious in ceremonial, beckoning De Graville to 
follow him, passed at once into the next chamber, and seated 
himself on his chair of state. 

In a few moments one of the seneschals of the palace 
ushered in a visitor, whose long moustache at once proclaimed 
him Saxon, and in whom De Graville with surprise recognised 
his old friend, Godrith. The young thegn, with a reverence 
more hasty than that to which William was accustomed, 
advanced to the foot of the dais, and, using the Norman 
language, said, in a voice thick with emotion — 

^From Harold the Earl, greeting to thee. Monseigneur. 
Most foul and unchristian wrong hath been done the Earl by 
thy liegeman, Guy, Count of Ponthieu. Sailing hither in 
two barks from England, with intent to visit thy court, storm 
and wind drove the Earl’s vessels towards the mouth of the 
Somme ; there landing, and without fear, as in no hostile 
country, he and his train were seized by the Count himself, 
and cast into prison in the castle of Belrem. A dungeon fit 
but for malefactors, holds, while I speak, the first lord of 
England, and brother-in-law to its king. Nay, hints of 
famine, torture, and death itself, have been darkly thrown 
out by this most disloyal count, whether in earnest, or with 
the base view of heightening ransom. At length, wearied, 
perhaps, by the Earl’s firmness and disdain, this traitor of 
Ponthieu hath permitted me in the Earl’s behalf to bear the 
message of Harold. He came to thee as to a prince and a 
friend ; sufferest thou thy liegeman to detain him as a thief 
or a foe } ’ 

^ Noble Englishman,’ replied William gravely, ^this is a 
matter more out of my cognisance than thou seemest to 
think. It is true that Guy, Count of Ponthieu, holds fief 
under me, but I have no control over the laws of his realm. 
And by those laws, he hath right of life and death over all 
stranded and M^aifed on his coast. Much grieve I for the 


HAROLD 


239 


mishap of your famous Earl, and what I can do, I will ; but 
I can only treat in this matter with Guy as prince with 
prince, not as lord to vassal. Meanwhile I pray you to take 
rest and food ; and I will seek prompt counsel as to the 
measures to adopt.* 

The Saxon’s face showed disappointment and dismay at 
this answer, so different from what he had expected ; and 
he replied with the natural honest hluntness which all his 
younger affection of Norman manners had never eradicated — 

^Food will I not touch, nor wine drink, till thou. Lord 
Count, hast decided what help, as noble to noble, Christian 
to Christian, man to man, thou givest to him who has come 
into this peril solely from his trust in thee.’ 

^ Alas ! ’ said the grand dissimulator, ^ heavy is the re- 
sponsibility with which thine ignorance of our land, laws, 
and men would charge me. If I take but one false step in 
this matter, woe indeed to thy lord ! Guy is hot and 
haughty, and in his droits ; he is capable of sending me the 
Earl’s head in reply to too dure a request for his freedom. 
Much treasure and broad lands wdll it cost me, I fear, to 
ransom the Earl. But be cheered ; half my duchy were not 
too high a price for thy lord’s safety. Go, then, and eat 
with a good heart, and drink to the Earl’s health with a 
hopeful prayer.’ 

^ An it please you, my lord,’ said De Graville, ^ I know 
this gentle thegn, and will beg of you the grace to see to his 
entertainment, and sustain his spirits.’ 

^ Thou shalt, but later ; so noble a guest none but my chief 
seneschal should be the first to honour.’ Then turning to 
the officer in waiting, he bade him lead the Saxon to the 
chamber tenanted by William Fitzosborne (who then lodged 
within the palace), and committed him to that Count’s care. 

As the Saxon sullenly withdrew, and as the door closed 
on him, William rose and strode to and fro the room 
exultingly. 

^ I have him ! I have him ! ’ he cried aloud ; ^ not as free 
guest, but as ransomed captive. I have him — the Earl ! — I 
have him ! Go, Mallet, my friend, now seek this sour- 
looking Englishman ; and hark thee ! fill his ear with all 
the tales thou canst think of as to Guy’s cruelty and ire. 
Enforce all the difficulties that lie in my way towards the 
Earl’s delivery. Great make the danger of the Earl’s 
capture, and vast all the favour of release. Comprehendest 
thou ? ’ 

^ I am Norman, Monseigneur * replied De Graville, with a 
slight smile ; ^ and we Normans can make a short mantle cover 
a large space. You will not be displeased with my address.’ 


240 


HAROLD 


^Go, then— go/ said William, ^aiid send me forthwith— 
Lanfranc— no, hold— not Lanfranc, he is too scrupulous ; 
Fitzosborne— no, too haughty. Go, first, to my brother, 
Odo of Bayeux, and pray him to seek me on the instant.’ 

The knight bowed and vanished, and William continued 
to pace the room, with sparkling eyes and murmuring lips. 


CHAPTER II 

Not till after repeated messages, at first without talk of ran- 
som, and in high tone, affected, no doubt, by William to 
spin out the negotiations, and augment the value of his 
services, did Guy of Ponthieu consent to release his illustrious 
captive — the guerdon, a large sum and un hel maneir on the 
river Eaulne. But whether that guerdon were the fair 
ransom-fee, or the price for concerted snare, no man now 
can say, and sharper than ours the wit that forms the more 
likely guess. These stipulations effected, Guy himself opened 
the doors of the dungeon ; and affecting to treat the whole 
matter as one of law and right, now happily and fairly 
settled, was as courteous and debonair as he had before 
been dark and menacing. 

He even himself, with a brilliant train, accompanied 
Harold to the Chateau d’Eu, whither William journeyed to 
give him the meeting ; and laughed with a gay grace at the 
Earl’s short and scornful replies to his compliments and 
excuses. At the gates of this chateau, not famous, in after 
times, for the good faith of its lords, William himself, 
laying aside all the pride of etiquette which he had estab- 
lished at his court. Came to receive his visitor ; and aiding 
him to dismount embraced him cordially, amidst a loud 
fanfaron of fifes and trumpets. 

The flower of that glorious nobility, which a few genera- 
tions had sufficed to rear out of the lawless pirates of the 
Baltic, had been selected to do honour alike to guest and 
host. 

There were Hugo de Montfort and Roger de Beaumont, 
famous in council as in the field, and already grey with 
fame. There was Henri, Sire de Ferrers, whose name is 
supposed to have arisen from the vast forges that burned 
around his castle, on the anvils of which were welded the arms 
impenetrable in every field. There was Raoul de Tancarville, 
the old tutor of William, hereditary Chamberlain of the 
Norman Counts ; and Geoffroi de Mandeville, and Tonstain 


HAROLD 


241 


the Fair, whose name still preserved, amidst the general 
corruption of appellations, the evidence of his Danish birth ; 
and Hugo de Grantmesnil, lately returned from exile ; and 
Humphrey de Bohun, whose old castle in Carcutan may yet 
be seen ; and St. John, and Lacie, and D’Aincourt, of broad 
lauds between the Maine and the Oise ; and William de 
Montfichet, and Roger, nicknamed ^ Bigod,’ and Roger de 
Mortemer ; and many more, whose fame lives in another 
land than that of Neustria ! There, too, were the chief 
prelates and abbots of a church that since William’s accession 
had risen into repute with Rome and with Learning, un- 
equalled on this side the Alps ; their white auhes over their 
gorgeous robes ; Lanfranc, and the Bishop of Coutance, and 
the Abbot of Bee, and foremost of all in rank, but not in 
learning, Odo of Bayeux. 

So great the assemblage of Quens and prelates, that there 
was small room in the courtyard for the lesser knights and 
chiefs, who yet hustled each other, with loss of Norman 
dignity, for a sight of the lion which guarded England. 
And still, amidst all those men of mark and might, Harold,? 
simple and calm, looked as he had looked on his war-ship iii 
the Tliames, the man who could lead them all ! 

From those, indeed, who were fortunate enough to see 
him as he passed up by the side of William, as tall as the 
Duke, and no less erect — of far slighter bulk, but wdth a 
strength almost equal, to a practised eye, in his compacter 
symmetry and more supple grace — from those who saw 
him thus, an admiring murmur rose; for no men in the 
world so valued and cultivated personal advantages as the 
Noi-man knighthood. 

Conversing easily with Harold, and well watching him 
while he conversed, the Duke led his guest into a private 
chamber in the third floor of the castle, and in that chamber 
were Haco and Wolnoth. 

^Tliis, I trust, is no surprise to you,’ said the Duke, 
smiling; ^and now I shall but mar your commune.’ So 
saying, he left the room, and Wolnoth rushed to his 
brother’s arms, while Haco, more timidly, drew near and 
touched the Earl’s robe. 

As soon as the first joy of the meeting was over, the 
Earl said to Haco, wdiom he had drawn to his breast ^iith 
an embrace as fond as that bestowed on Wolnoth— % 

^ Remembering thee a boy, I came to say to thee, Be ihy 
son ” ; but seeing thee a man, I change the prayer ; supply 
thy father’s place, and be my brother T And thou, Wolnoth, 
hast thou kept thy word to me ? Norman is thy garb, in 
truth ; is thy heart still English ? ’ 


Q 


242 


HAROLD 


whispered Haco ; Oiist ! We have a proverb, 
that walls have ears.’ 

^But Norman walls can hardly understand our broad 
Saxon of Kent, I trust,’ said Harold, smiling, though with 
a shade on his brow. 

^True ; continue to speak Saxon,’ said Haco, ^and we are 
safe.’ 

^ Safe ! ’ echoed Harold. 

^Haco’s fears are childish, my brother,’ said Wolnoth, 
^and he wrongs the Duke.’ 

' Not the Duke, but the policy which surrounds him like 
an atmosphere,’ exclaimed Haco. ^Oh, Harold, generous 
indeed wert thou to come hither for thy kinsfolk — generous ! 
But for England’s weal, better that we had rotted out our 
lives in exile, ere thou, hope and prop of England, set foot 
in these webs of wile.’ 

^Tut !’ said Wolnoth impatiently ; ^good is it for England 
that the Norman and Saxon should be friends.’ 

Harold, who had lived to grow as wise in men’s hearts 
as his father, save when the natural trustfulness that lay 
under his calm reserve lulled his sagacity, turned his eye 
steadily on the faces of his tw o kinsmen ; and he saw at 
the first glance that a deeper intellect and a graver temper 
than Wolnoth’s fair face betrayed, characterised the dark 
eye and serious brow of Haco. He therefore drew his 
nephew a little aside, and said to him — 

‘Forewarned is forearmed. Deemest thou that this fair- 
spoken Duke will dare aught against my life } ’ 

‘Life, no; liberty, yes.’ 

Harold started, and those strong passions native to his 
breast, but usually curbed beneath his majestic will, heaved 
in his bosom and flashed in his eye. 

‘ Liberty ! — let him dare ! lliough all his troops paved 
the way from his court to his coasts, I would hew my way 
through their ranks.’ 

‘ Deemest thou that I am a coward ? ’ said Haco simply, 
‘yet contrary to all law and justice, and against King 
Edward’s well-known remonstrance, hath not the Count 
detained me years, yea, long years, in his land ? Kind are 
his words, wily his deeds. Fear not force ; fear fraud.’ 

, ‘I fear neither,’ answered Harold, drawing himself up, 
‘ nor do I repent me one moment — No ! nor did I repent 
in the dungeon of that felon Count, w’hom God grant me life 
to repay with fire and sword for his treason — that I myself 
have come hither to demand my kinsmen. I come in the 
name of England, strong in her might, and sacred in her 
majesty.’ 


HAROLD 


243 


Before Haco could reply, the door opened, and Raoul 
de Tancarville, as Grand Chamberlain, entered, with all 
Harold’s Saxon train, and a goodly number of Norman 
squires and attendants, bearing rich vestures. 

The noble bowed to the Earl with his country’s polished 
courtesy, and besought leave to lead him to the bath, while 
his own squires prepared his raiment for the banquet to be 
held in his honour. So all further conference with his 
young kinsmen was then suspended. 

Tlie Duke, who affected a state no less regal than that of 
the Court of France, permitted no one, save his own family 
and guests, to sit at his own table. His great officers 
(those imperious lords) stood beside his chair ; and William 
Fitzosborne, ^the Proud Spirit,’ placed on the board with 
his own hand the dainty dishes for which the Norman cooks 
were renowned. And great men were those Norman cooks ; 
and often for some ^delicate,’ more ravishing than wont, 
gold chain and gem, and even ‘bel maneir,’ fell to their 
guerdon. It was worth being a cook in those days ! 

The most seductive of men was William in his fair moods; 
and he lavished all the witcheries at his control upon his 
guest. If possible, yet more gracious was Matilda the 
Duchess. ITiis woman, eminent for mental culture, for 
personal beauty, and for a spirit and an ambition no less 
great than her lord’s, knew well how to choose such subjects 
of discourse as might most flatter an English ear. Her 
connection with Harold, through her sister’s marriage with 
Tostig, warranted a familiarity almost caressing, which she 
assumed towards the comely Earl ; and she insisted, with a 
winning smile, that all the hours the Duke would leave at 
his disposal he must spend with her. 

’file banquet w^as enlivened by the song of the great 
Taillefer himself, who selected a theme that artfully flattered 
alike the Norman and the Saxon ; viz., the aid given by 
Rolfganger to Athelstan, and the alliance between the 
English King and the Norman founder. He dexterously 
introduced into the song praises of the English, and the 
value of their friendship ; and the Countess significantly 
applauded each gallant compliment to the land of the famous 
guest. If Harold was pleased by such poetic courtesies, he 
was yet more surprised by the high honour in which Duke, 
baron, and prelate evidently held the Poet : for it was 
among the worst signs of that sordid spirit, honouring only 
wealth, which had crept over the original character of the 
Anglo-Saxon, that the bard or scop, with them, had sunk 
into great disrepute, and it was even forbidden to ecclesias- 
tics to admit such landless vagrants to their company. 


244 


HAROLD 


Much, indeed, there was in that court which, even on the 
first day, Harold saw to admire — that stately temperance, 
so foreign to English excesses (but which, alas ! the Norman 
kept not long when removed to another soil) — that methodi- 
cal state and noble pomp which characterised the Feudal 
system, linking so harmoniously prince to peer, and peer to 
knight — the easy grace, the polished wit of the courtiers — 
the wisdom of Lanfranc, and the higher ecclesiastics, blend- 
ing worldly lore with decorous, not pedantic, regard to 
their sacred calling — the enlightened love of music, letters, 
song, and art, which coloured the discourse both of Duke 
and Duchess and the younger courtiers, prone to emulate 
high example, whether for ill or good, — all impressed Harold 
with a sense of civilisation and true royalty, which at once 
saddened and inspired his musing mind — saddened him 
when he thought how far behindhand England was in 
much, with this comparatively petty principality — inspired 
him w'hen he felt what one great chief can do for his native 
land. 

Tlie unfavourable impressions made upon his thoughts by 
Haco’s warnings could scarcely fail to yield beneath the 
prodigal courtesies lavished upon him, and the frank open- 
ness with which William laughingly excused himself for 
having so long detained the hostages, ‘ in order, my guest, 
to make thee come and fetch them. And, by St. Valery, 
now thou art here, thou shalt not depart, till, at least, thou 
hast lost in gentler memories, the recollection of the scurvy 
treatment thou hast met from that barbarous Count. Nay, 
never bite thy lip, Harold, my friend ; leave to me thy 
revenge upon Guy. Sooner or later, the very maneir he 
hath extorted from me shall give excuse for sword and 
lance, and then, pao'de.Vf thou shalt come and cross steel in 
thine own quarrel. How I rejoice that I can show to the 
beau frh'e of my dear cousin and seigneur some return for 
all the courtesies the English King and kingdom bestowed 
upon me ! To-morrow we will ride to Rouen ; there, all 
knightly sports shall be held to grace thy coming ; and by 
St. Michael, knight-saint of the Norman, nought less will 
content me than to have thy great name in the list of my 
chosen chevaliers. But the night w^ears now, and thou sure 
must need sleep ’ ; and, thus talking, the Duke himself led 
the w^ay to Harold’s chamber, and insisted on removing the 
ouche from his robe of state. As he did so, he passed his 
hand, as if carelessly, along the Earl’s right arm. ' Ha ! ’ 
said he suddenly, and in his natural tone of voice, which 
was short and quick, ^ these muscles have known practice ! 
Dost think thou couldst bend my bow ! ’ 


HAROLD 


245 


^ Who could bend that of — Ulysses ? ’ returned the Earl, 
fixing his deep blue eye upon the Norman’s. William un- 
consciously changed colour, for he felt that he was at that 
moment more Ulysses than Achilles. 


CHAPTER III 

Side by side, William and Harold entered the fair city of 
Rouen, and there a succession of the brilliant pageants and 
knightly entertainments (comprising those ^rare feats of 
honour,’ expanded, with the following age, into the more 
gorgeous display of joust and tourney) was designed to 
dazzle the eyes and captivate the fancy of the Earl. But 
though Harold won, even by the confession of the chronicles 
most in favour of the Norman, golden opinions in a court 
more ready to deride than admire the Saxon — though not 
only the ‘ strength of this body,’ and the ^ boldness of his 
spirit,’ as shown in exhibitions unfamiliar to Saxon warriors, 
but his ^ manners,’ his ^ eloquence, intellect, and other good 
qualities,’ were loftily conspicuous amidst those knightly 
courtiers, that sublimer part of his character, which was 
found in its simple manhood and intense nationality, kept 
him unmoved and serene amidst all intended to exercise 
that fatal spell which Normanised most of those who came 
within the circle of Norman attraction. 

Those festivities were relieved by pompous excursions and 
progresses from town to town, and fort to fort, throughout 
the Duchy, and, according to some authorities, even to a 
visit to Philip the French King at Compeigne. On the 
return to Rouen, Harold and the six thegns of his train 
were solemnly admitted into that peculiar band of warlike 
brothers which William had instituted, and to which, follo\7- 
ing the chronicles of the after century, we have given the 
name of Knights. The silver baldrick was belted on, and 
the lance, with its pointed banderol, was placed in the hand, 
and the seven Saxon lords became Norman knights. 

The evening after this ceremonial, Harold was with the 
Duchess and her fair daughters — all children. The beauty 
of one of the girls drew from him those compliments so 
sweet to a mother’s ear. Matilda looked up from the 
broidery on which she was engaged, and beckoned to her 
the child thus praised. 

^Adeliza,’ she said, placing her hand on the girl’s dark 
locks, ^though we would not that thou shouldst learn too 


240 


HAROLD 


early how men’s tongues can gloze and flatter, yet this 
noble guest hath so high a repute for truth, that thou mayest 
at least believe him sincere when he says thy face is fair. 
Tliink of it, and with pride, my child ; let it keep thee 
through youth proof against the homage of meaner men ; 
and, peradventure, St. Michael and St. Valery may bestow 
on thee a mate valiant and comely as this noble lord.’ 

The child blushed to her brow : but answered with the 
quickness of a spoiled infant — unless, perhaps, she had been 
previously tutored so to reply — ^ Sweet mother, 1 w ill have 
no mate and no lord but Harold himself ; and if he w ill not 
have Adeliza as his wife, she will die a nun.’ 

^ Froward child, it is not for thee to woo ! ’ said Matilda, 
smiling. ‘ Thou heardest her, noble Harold ; what is thine 
answer ? ’ 

^That she will grow wiser,’ said the Earl, laughing, as 
he kissed the child’s forehead. ^ Fair damsel, ere thou art 
ripe for the altar, time will have sown grey in these locks ; 
and thou wouldst smile indeed in scorn, if Harold then 
claimed thy troth.’ 

‘ Not so,’ said Matilda seriously ; ‘ highborn damsels see 
youth not in years but in fame — Fame, which is young for 
ever ! ’ 

Startled by the gravity w ith which Matilda spoke, as if 
to give importance to what had seemed a jest, the Earl, 
versed in courts, felt that a snare was round him ; and 
replied in a tone betw een jest and earnest : — ‘ Happy am 1 
to wear on my heart a charm, proof against all the beauty 
even of this court.’ 

Matilda’s face darkened ; and William entering at that 
time with his usual abruptness, lord and lady exchanged 
glances, not unobserved by Harold. 

The Duke, however, drew aside the Saxon ; and saying 
gaily, ^We Normans are not naturally jealous; but then, 
till now, we have not had Saxon gallants closeted with our 
wives ’ ; added more seriously, ^ Harold, I have a grace to 
pray at thy hands — come with me.’ 

llie Earl followed William into his chamber, which he 
found filled with chiefs, in high converse ; and William 
then hastened to inform him that he was about to make a 
military expedition against the Bretons; and knowing his 
peculiar acquaintance with the w^arfare, as with the lan- 
guage and manners, of their kindred Welch, he besought 
his aid in a campaign which he promised him should be 
brief. 

Perhaps the Earl was not, in his own mind, averse from 
returning William’s display of power by some evidence of 


HAROLD 


247 


his own military skill, and the valour of the Saxon thegns 
in his train. There might be prudence in such exhibition, 
and, at all events, he could not with a good grace decline 
the proposal. He enchanted William therefore by a simple 
acquiescence ; and the rest of the evening — deep into night 
—was spent in examining charts of the fort and country 
intended to be attacked. 

The conduct and courage of Harold and his Saxons in 
this expedition are recorded by the Norman chroniclers. 
The Earl’s personal exertions saved, at the passage of 
Coesnon, a detachment of soldiers, who would otherwise 
have perished in the quicksands ; and even the warlike 
skill of William in the brief and brilliant campaign, was, 
if not eclipsed, certainly equalled, by that of the Saxon 
chief. 

While the campaign lasted, William and Harold had but 
one table and one tent. To outward appearance, the famili- 
arity between the two was that of brothers ; in reality, how- 
ever, these two men, both so able — one so deep in his guile, 
the other so wise in his tranquil caution — felt that a silent 
war between the two for mastery was working on, under the 
guise of loving peace. 

Already Harold was conscious that the politic motives 
for his mission had failed him ; already he perceived, though 
he scarce knew why, that \\Tlliam the Norman was the 
last man to whom he could confide his ambition, or trust 
for aid. 

One day, as, during a short truce with the defenders of 
the place they were besieging, the Normans were diverting 
their leisure with martial games, in which Taillefer shone 
pre-eminent ; while Harold and William stood without their 
tent, watching the animated field, the Duke abruptly ex- 
claimed to Mallet de Graville, ^ Bring me my bow. Now, 
Harold, let me see if thou canst bend it.’ 

The bow was brought, and Saxon and Norman gathered 
round the spot. 

^ Fasten thy glove to yonder tree. Mallet,’ said the Duke, 
taking that mighty bow in his hand, and bending its stub- 
born yew into the noose of the string with practised ease. 

Then he drew the arc to his ear ; and the tree itself 
seemed to shake at the shock, as the shaft, piercing the 
glove, lodged half-way in the trunk. 

^ Such are not our weapons,’ said the Earl ; ^ and ill would 
it become me, unpractised, so to peril our English honour, 
as to strive against the arm that could bend that arc and 
wing that arrow. But, that I may show these Norman 
knights, that at least we have some weapon wherew ith we 


248 


HAROLD 


can parry shaft and smite assailer — bring me forth, Godrith, 
my shield and my Danish axe.’ 

Taking the shield and axe which the Saxon brought to 
him, Harold then stationed himself before the tree. 

^Now, fair Duke,’ said he, smiling, ^choose thou thy 
longest shaft — bid thy ten doughtiest archers take their 
bows ; round this tree will I move, and let each shaft be 
aimed at whatever space in my mailless body I leave un- 
guarded by my shield.’ 

‘^No ! ’ said William hastily ; ^that were murder.’ 

* It is but the common peril of war,’ said Harold simply ; 
and he walked to the tree. 

The blood mounted to William’s brow, and the lion’s 
thirst of carnage parched his throat. 

^ An he will have it so,’ said he, beckoning to his archers ; 
Met not Normandy be shamed. Watch well, and let every 
shaft go home ; avoid only the head and the heart ; such 
orgulous vaunting is best cured by blood-letting.’ 

The archers nodded, and took their post, each at a sepa- 
rate quarter ; and deadly indeed seemed the danger of the 
Earl, for as he moved, though he kept his back guarded by 
the tree, some parts of his form the shield left exposed, and 
it would have been impossible, in his quick-shifting move- 
ments, for the archers so to aim as to wound, but to spare 
life ; yet the Earl seemed to take no particular care to avoid 
the peril ; lifting his bare head fearlessly above the shield, 
and including in one gaze of his steadfast eye, calmly bright 
even at the distance, all the shafts of the archers. 

At one moment five of the arrows hissed through the air, 
and with such wonderful quickness had the shield turned 
to each, that three fell to the ground blunted against it, and 
two broke on its surface. 

But William, waiting for the first discharge, and seeing 
full mark at Harold’s shoulder as the buckler turned, now 
sent forth his terrible shaft. The noble Taillefer with a 
poet’s true sympathy cried, ^ Saxon beware ! ’ but the watch- 
ful Saxoii needed not the warning. As if in disdain, Harold 
met not the shaft with his shield, but swinging high the 
mighty axe (which with most men required both arms to 
wield it), he advanced a step, and clove the rushing arrow 
in twain. 

Before William’s loud oath of wrath and surprise left his 
lips, the five shafts of the remaining archers fell as vainly 
as their predecessors against the nimble shield. 

Then advancing, Harold said cheerfully: ^This is but 
defence, fair Duke — and little worth were the axe if it 
could not smite as v^ell as ward. Wherefore, I pray you, 


HAROLD 


249 


place upon yonder broken stone pillar, which seems some 
relic of Druid heathenesse, such helm and shirt of mail as 
thou deemest most proof against sword and pertuizan, and 
judge then if our English axe can guard well our English 
land.’ 

* If thy axe can cleave the helmet I wore at Bavent, when 
the Franks and their King fled before me,’ said the Duke 
grimly, ^ I shall hold Caesar in fault, not to have invented 
a weapon so dread.’ 

And striding back into his pavilion, he came forth with 
the helm and shirt of mail, which was worn stronger and 
heavier by the Normans, as fighting usually on horseback, 
than by Dane and Saxon, w4o, mainly fighting on foot, 
could not have endured so cumbrous a burthen : and if 
strong and dour generally with the Norman, judge what 
solid weight that mighty Duke could endure ! With his 
own hand William placed the mail on the ruined Druid 
stone, and on the mail the helm. 

Harold looked long and gravely at the edge of the axe ; 
it was so richly gilt and damasquined, that the sharpness 
of its temper could not w ell have been divined under that 
holiday glitter. But this axe had come to him from Canute 
the Great, who himself, unlike the Danes, small and slight, 
had supplied his deficiency of muscle by the finest dexterity 
and the most perfect weapons. Famous had been that axe 
in the delicate hand of Canute — how much more tremendous 
in the ample grasp of Harold ! Swinging now in both hands 
this weapon, with a peculiar and rapid whirl, which gave 
it an inconceivable impetus, the Earl let fall the crushing 
blow' : at the first stroke, cut right in the centre, rolled 
the helm ; at the second, through all the woven mail (cleft 
asunder, as if the slightest filagree work of the goldsmith) 
shore the blade, and a great fragment of the stone itself 
came tumbling on the sod. 

The Normans stood aghast, and AVilliam’s face was as 
pale as the shattered stone. The great Duke felt even his 
matchless dissimulation fail him ; nor, unused to the special 
practice and craft which the axe required, could he have 
pretended, despite a physical strength superior even to 
Harold’s, to rival blows that seemed to him more than 
mortal. 

^ Lives there any other man in the wide world wdiose arm 
could have wrought that feat ? ’ exclaimed Bruse, the ances- 
tor of the famous Scot. 

‘ Nay,’ said Harold simply, ^ at least thirty thousand 
such men have I left at home ! But this was but the stroke of 
an idle vanity, and strength becomes tenfold in a good cause,’ 


250 


HAROLD 


The Duke heard, and fearful lest he should betray his 
sense of the latent meaning couched under his guest’s words, 
he hastily muttered forth reluctant compliment and praise ; 
while Fitzosborne, De Bohun, and other chiefs, more 
genuinely knightly, gave way to unrestrained admiration. 

’fhen beckoning De Graville to follow him, the Duke strode 
off towards the tent of his brother of Bayeux, who, though, 
except on extraordinary occasions, he did not join in positive 
conflict, usually accompanied William in his military excur- 
sions, both to bless the host, and to advise (for his martial 
science was considerable) the council of war. 

The bishop, who, despite the sanctimony of the Court, and 
his own stern nature, was (though secretly and decorously) 
a gallant of great success in other fields than those of Mars, 
sate alone in his pavilion, inditing an epistle to a certain 
fair dame in Rouen, whom he had unwillingly left to follow' 
his brother. At the entrance of William, whose morals in 
such matters were pure and rigid, he swept the letter into 
the chest of relics which always accompanied him, and rose, 
saying indifferently — 

^A treatise on the authenticity of St. Tliomas’s little 
finger ! But what ails you ? you are disturbed ! ’ 

^Odo, Odo, this man baffles me — this man fools me; I 
make no ground with him. 1 have spent — heaven knows 
what I have spent,’ said the Duke, sighing with penitent 
parsimony, ^ in banquets, and ceremonies, and processions ; 
to say nothing of my bel maneir of Yonne, and the sum 
wrung from my coffers by that greedy Ponthevin. All 
gone — all w'asted — all melted like snow ! and the Saxon is 
as Saxon as if he had seen neither Norman splendour, nor 
been released from the danger by Norman treasure. But, 
by the Splendour Divine, I were a fool indeed if I suffered 
him to return home. Would thou hadst seen the sorcerer 
cleave my helmet and mail just now, as easily as if they had 
been willow twigs. Oh, Odo, Odo, my soul is troubled, and 
St. Michael forsakes me !’ 

While William ran on thus distractedly, the prelate lifted 
his eyes inquiringly to De Graville, who now stood within 
the tent, and the knight briefly related the recent trial of 
strength. 

^ I see nought in this to chafe thee,’ said Odo ; ^ the man 
once thine, the stronger the vassal, the more powerful the 
lord.’ 

' But he is not mine ; I have sounded him as far as I dare 
go. Matilda hath almost openly offered him my fairest child 
as his wife. Nothing dazzles, nothing moves him. Thinkest 
thou I care for his strong arm ? Tut, no : I chafe at the 


HAROLD 


251 


proud heart that set the arm in motion ; the proud meaning 
his words symbolled out — So will English strength guard 
English land from the Norman — so axe and shield will defy 
your mail and your shafts.” But let him beware !’ growled 
the Duke fiercely, ^or ’ 

^ May I speak/ interrupted' De Graville, ^ and suggest a 
counsel ? ’ 

^ Speak out, in God’s name ! ’ cried the Duke. 

^Then I should say, with submission, that the way to 
tame a lion is not by gorging him, but daunting. Bold is 
the lion against open foes ; but a lion in the toils loses his 
nature. Just now, my lord said that Harold shall not 
return to his native land ’ 

^Nor shall he, but as my sworn man !’ exclaimed the 
Duke. 

^ And if you now put to him that choice, think you it will 
favour your views Will he not reject your proffers, and 
with hot scorn ? ’ 

^ Scorn ! darest thou that word to me ? ’ cried the Duke. 
^ Scorn ! have I no headsman whose axe is as sharp as 
Harold’s ? and the neck of a captive is not sheathed in my 
Norman mail.’ 

^ Pardon, pardon, my liege,’ said Mallet, with spirit ; 
^ but to save my chief from a hasty action that might bring 
long remorse, I spoke thus boldly. Give the Earl at least 
fair warning ; — a prison, or fealty to thee, that is the choice 
before him !— let him know it ; let him see that thy dungeons 
are dark, and thy walls impassable. Threaten not his life — 
brave men care not for that ! — threaten thyself nought, but 
let others work upon him with fear of his freedom. I know 
well these Saxish men ; I know well Harold ; freedom is 
their passion, they are cowards when threatened with the 
doom of four walls.’ 

^ I conceive thee, wise son,’ exclaimed Odo. 

^ Ha ! ’ said the Duke slowly ; ^ and yet it was to pre- 
vent such suspicions that I took care, after the first meeting, 
to separate him from Haco and Wolnoth, for they must 
have learned much in Norman gossip, ill to repeat to the 
Saxon.’ 

^Wolnoth is almost wholly Norman,’ said the bishop, 
smiling ; ^ W olnoth is bound par-amours , to a certain fair 
Norman dame ; and, I trow well, prefers her charms here to 
the thought of his return. But Haco, as thou knowest, is 
sullen and watchful.’ 

^So much the better companion for Harold now,’ said 
De Graville. 

^ 1 am fated ever to plot and to scheme ! ’ said the Duke, 


252 


HAROLD 


groaning, as if he had been the simplest of men ; ^ but, 
nathless, I love the stout Earl, and I mean all for his own 
good — that is, compatibly with my rights and claims to 
the heritage of Edward my cousin.’ 

^ Of course,’ said the bishop. 


CHAPTER IV 

The snares now spread for Harold were in pursuance of the 
policy thus resolved on. The camp soon afterwards broke 
up, and the troops took their way to Bayeux. William, 
without greatly altering his manner towards the Earl, 
evaded markedly (or as markedly replied not to) Harold’s 
plain declarations, that his presence was required in Eng- 
land, and that he could no longer defer his departure ; 
while, under pretence of being busied with affairs, he 
absented himself much from the Earl’s company, or re- 
frained from seeing him alone, and suffered Mallet de 
Graville, and Odo the bishop, to supply his place with 
Harold. The Earl’s suspicions now became thoroughly 
aroused, and these were fed both by the hints, kindly 
meant, of De Graville, and the less covert discourse of the 
prelate : while Mallet let drop, as in gossiping illustration 
of William’s fierce and vindictive nature, many anecdotes 
of that cruelty which really stained the Norman’s charac- 
ter, Odo, more bluntly, appeared to take it for granted that 
Harold’s sojourn in the land would be long. 

^You will have time,’ said he one day, as they rode to- 
gether, ^ to assist me, I trust, in learning the language of 
our forefathers. Danish is still spoken much at Bayeux, 
the sole place in Neustria where the old tongue and cus- 
toms still linger; and it would serve my pastoral ministry 
to receive your lessons ; in a year or so I might hope so to 
profit by them as to discourse freely with the less Frankish 
part of my flock.’ 

^ Surely, Lord Bishop, you jest,’ said Harold seriously ; 
^ you know well that within a week, at farthest, I must sail 
back for England with my young kinsmen.’ 

The prelate laughed. 

‘I advise you, dear count and son, to be cautious how 
you speak so plainly to William. I perceive that you have 
already ruffled him by such indiscreet remarks ; and you 
must have seen eno’ of the Duke to know that, when his* ire 
is up, his answers are short but his arms are long,’ 


HAROLD 


263 


^Vou most grievously wrong Duke William,- cried 
Harold indignantly, ‘^to suppose, merely in tliat playful 
humour, for which ye Normans are famous, that he could 
lay force on his confiding guest ? ’ 

^No, not a confiding guest — a ransomed captive. Surely 
my brother will deem that he has purchased of Count Guy 
his rights over his illustrious prisoner. But courage ! The 
Norman Court is not the Ponthevin dungeon ; and your 
chains, at least, are roses.’ 

'fhe reply of wrath and defiance that rose to Harold’s lip, 
was checked by a sign from De Graville, who raised his 
finger to his lip with a face expressive of caution and alarm ; 
and, some little time after, as they halted to water their 
horses, De Graville came up to him and said in a low voice, 
and in Saxon — 

^Beware how you speak too frankly to Odo. What is 
said to him is said to William ; and the Duke, at times, so 
acts on the spur of the moment that — But let me not wrong 
him, or needlessly alarm you.’ 

^Sire de Graville,’ said Harold, ^this is not the first 
time that the Prelate of Bayeux hath hinted at compulsion, 
nor that you (no doubt kindly) have warned me of purpose 
hostile or fraudful. As plain man to plain man, I ask you, 
on your knightly honour, to tell me if you know aught to 
make you believe that William the Duke will, under any 
pretext, detain me here a captive ? ’ 

Now, though Mallet de Graville had lent himself to the 
service of an ignoble craft, he justified it by a better reason 
than complaisance to his lords ; for, knowing William well, 
his hasty ire, and his relentless ambition, he was really 
alarmed for Harold’s safety. And, as the reader may have 
noted, in suggesting that policy of intimidation, the knight 
had designed to give the Earl at least the benefit of fore- 
warning. So, thus adjured, De Graville replied sincerely — 

^ Earl Harold, on my honour as your brother in knight- 
hood I answer your plain question. I have cause to believe 
and to know that APilliam will not suffer you to depart, 
unless fully satisfied on certain points, which he himself 
will, doubtless, ere long make clear to you.’ 

^ And if I insist on my departure, not so satisfying him ? ’ 

^ Every castle on our road hath a dungeon as deep as 
Count Guy’s; but where another William to deliver you 
from William ? ’ 

^Over yon seas, a prince mightier than William, and men 
as resolute, at least, as your Normans.’ 

* ^ Cher et puissant, my Lord Earl,’ answered De Graville, 

^ these are brave words, but of no weight in the ear of a 


254 


HAROLD 


schemer so deep as tlie Duke. Think you really, that King 
Edward — pardon my bluntness — would rouse himself from 
his apathy, to do more in your behalf than he has done in 
your kinsmen’s — remonstrate and preach.^ — Are you even 
sure that on the representation of a man he hath so loved 
as William, he will not be content to rid his throne of so 
formidable a subject.^ You speak of the English people; 
doubtless you are popular and beloved, but it is the habit 
of no people, least of all your own, to stir actively and in 
concert, without leaders. The Duke knows the factions of 
England as well as you do. Remember how closely he is 
connected with Tostig, your ambitious brother. Have you 
no fear that Tostig himself, earl of the most warlike part of 
the kingdom, will not only do his best to check the popular 
feeling in your favour, but foment every intrigue to detain 
you here, and leave himself the first noble in the land ? As 
for other leaders, save Gurth (who is but your own vice 
earl), who is there that will not rejoice at the absence of 
Harold.^ You have made foes of the only family that 
approaches the power of your own — the heirs of Leofric 
and Algar. — Your strong hand removed from the reins of 
tlie empire, tumults and dissensions ere long will break 
forth that will distract men’s minds from an absent captive, 
and centre them on the safety of their own hearths, or the 
advancement of their own interests. You see that I know 
something of the state of your native land ; but deem not my 
own observation, though not idle, sufficed to bestow that 
knowledge. I learn it more from VYilliam’s discourses ; 
William, who from Flanders, from Boulogne, from England 
itself, by a thousand channels, hears all that passes between 
the cliffs of Dover and the marches of Scotland.’ 

Harold paused long before he replied, for his mind vas 
now thoroughly awakened to his danger ; and while recog- 
nising the wisdom and intimate acquaintance of affairs with 
which De Graville spoke, he was also rapidly revolving the 
best course for himself to pursue in such extremes. At 
length he said — 

^ I pass by your remarks on the state of England, with 
but one comment. You underrate Gurth, my brother, when 
you speak of him but as the vice earl of Harold. You 
underrate one, who needs but an object, to excel, in arms 
and in council, my father Godwin himself. — That object a 
brother’s wrongs would create from a brother’s love, and 
three hundred ships would sail up the Seine to demand 
your captive, manned by warriors as hardy as those who 
wrested Neustria from King Charles.’ 

^Granted,’ said De Graville. ^But, William, who could 


I 


HAROLD 25.*) 

cut off tlie hands and feet of his own subjects for an idle 
jest on his birth, could as easily put out the eyes of a 
captive foe. And of what worth are the ablest brain, and 
the stoutest arm, when the man is dependent on another 
for very sight ! ’ 

Harold involuntarily shuddered, but recovering himself on 
the instant, he replied, with a smile — 

^lliou makest thy Duke a butcher more fell than his 
ancestor Rolfganger. But thou saidst he needed but to be 
I satisfied on certain points. What are they ? ’ 

^ . ^ Ah, that thou must divine, or he unfold. But see, 

William himself approaches you.’ 

And here the Duke, who had been till then in the rear, 
spurred up with courteous excuses to Harold for his long 
defection from his side ; and, as they resumed their way, 
talked with all his former frankness and gaiety. 

^By the way, dear brother in arms,’ said he, have 
provided thee this evening with comrades more welcome, I 
fear, than myself — Haco and Wolnoth. That last is a 
youth whom I love dearly : the first is unsocial eno’, and 
methinks would make a better hermit than soldier. But, 
by St. Valery, I forgot to tell thee that an envoy from 
Flanders to-day, amongst other news, brought me some 
that may interest thee, ’lliere is a strong commotion in thy 
brother Tostig’s Northumbrian earldom, and the rumour 
runs that his fierce vassals will drive him forth and select 
some other lord : talk was of the sons of Algar — so I think 
ye called the stout dead Earl. This looks grave, for my 
dear cousin Edward’s health is failing fast. May the saints 
spare him long from their rest ! ’ 

‘ These are indeed ill tidings,’ said the Earl ; ^ and I 
trust that they suffice to plead at once my excuse for urging 
my immediate departure. Grateful I am for thy most 
gracious hostship, and thy just and generous intercession 
with thy liegeman ’ (Harold dwelt emphatically on the last 
word), for my release from a capture disgraceful to all 
Christendom. The ransom so nobly paid for me I will not 
insult thee, dear my lord, by affecting to repay ; but such 
gifts as our cheapmen hold most rare, perchance thy lady 
and thy fair children will deign to receive at my hands. 
Of these hereafter. Now may I ask but a vessel from thy 
nearest port } ’ 

^We will talk of this, dear guest and brother knight, 
on some later occasion. Lo, yon castle — ye have no such 
in England. See its vawmures and fosses ! ’ 

^ A noble pile,’ answered Harold. ^But pardon me that I 
press for ’ 


256 


H A R O I. D 


^Ye have no such strongholds, 1 say, in England?’ 
interrupted the Duke petulantly. 

^ Nay,’ replied the Englishman, ^ we have two strongholds 
far larger than that — Salisbury Plain and Newmarket 
Heath ! — strongholds that will contain fifty thousand men 
who need no walls but their shields. Count William, 
England’s ramparts are her men, and her strongest castles 
are her widest plains.’ 

^ Ah ! ’ said the Duke, biting his lip, ^ ah, so be it — but 
to return : — in that castle, mark it well, the Dukes of 
Normandy hold their prisoners of state’; and then he 
added with a laugh : ^ but we hold you, noble captive, in 
a prison more strong — our love and our heart.’ 

As he spoke, he turned his eye full upon Harold, and 
the gaze of the two encountered : that of the Duke was 
brilliant but stern and sinister ; that of Harold, steadfast 
and reproachful. As if by a spell, the eye of each rested 
long on that of the other — as the eyes of two lords of the 
forest, ere the rush and the spring. 

AYilliam was the first to withdraw his gaze, and as he did 
so, his lip quivered and his brow knit. Then waving his 
hand for some of the lords behind to join him and the Earl, 
he spurred his steed, and all further private conversation 
was suspended. The train pulled not bridle before they 
reached a monastery, at which they rested for the night. 


CHAPTER V 

On entering the chamber set apart for him in the convent, 
Harold found Haco and Wolnoth already awaiting him ; 
and a wound he had received in the last skirmish against 
the Bretons, having broken out afresh on the road, allowed 
him an excuse to spend the rest of the evening alone with 
his kinsmen. 

On conversing with them — now at length, and unre- 
strainedly — Harold saw everything to increase his alarm ; 
for even W olnoth, when closely pressed, could not but give 
evidence of the unscrupulous astuteness m ith which, despite 
all the boasted honour of chivalry, the Duke’s character was 
stained. For, indeed, in his excuse, it must be said, that 
from the age of eight, exposed to the snares of his own 
kinsmen, and more often saved by craft than by strength, 
AYilliam had been taught betimes to justify dissimulation, 
and confound wisdom with guile. Harold now bitterly 


HAROLD 


257 


recalled tlie parting words of Edward, and recognised their 
justice, though as yet he did not see all that they portended. 
Fevered and disquieted yet more by the news from England, 
and conscious that not only the power of his house and the 
foundations of his aspiring hopes, but the very weal and 
safety of the land, were daily imperilled by his continued 
absence, a vague and unspeakable terror for the first time in 
his life preyed on his bold heart — a terror like that of super- 
stition, for, like superstition, it was of the Unknown ; there 
was everything to shun, yet no substance to grapple with. 
He who could have smiled at the brief pangs of death, 
shrunk from the thought of the perpetual prison ; he, whose 
spirit rose elastic to every storm of life, and exulted in the 
air of action, stood appalled at the fear of blindness ; blind- 
ness in the midst of a career so grand ; — blindness in the 
midst of his pathway to a throne ; blindness, that curse 
which palsies the strong and enslaves the free, and leaves 
the whole man defenceless ; defenceless in an Age of Iron. 

What, too, were those mysterious points on which he was 
to satisfy the Duke ? He sounded his young kinsmen ; but 
Wolnoth evidently knew nothing ; Haco’s eye showed intel- 
ligence, but by his looks and gestures he seemed to signify 
that what he knew he would only disclose to Harold. 
Fatigued, not more with his emotions than with that exer- 
tion to conceal them so peculiar to the English character 
(proud virtue of manhood so little appreciated, and so rarely 
understood !), he at length kissed Wolnoth, and dismissed 
him, yawning, to his rest. Haco, lingering, closed the door, 
and looked long and mournfully at the Earl. 

^ Noble kinsman,’ said the young son of Sweyn, ‘I foresaw 
from the first, that as our fate will be thine only round 
thee will be wall and fosse ; unless, indeed, thou wilt lay 
aside thine own nature ; — it will give thee no armour here — 
and assume that which ’ 

^ Ho ! ’ interrupted the Earl, shaking with repressed 
passion, see already all the foul fraud and treason to 
guest and noble that surround me ! But if the Duke dare 
such shame, he shall do so in the eyes of day. I will hail 
the first boat I see on his river, or his sea-coast ; and woe 
to those who lay hand on this arm to detain me ! ’ 

Haco lifted his ominous eyes to Harold’s ; and there was 
something in their cold and unimpassioned expression which 
seemed to repel all enthusiasm, and to deaden all courage. 

^Harold,’ said he, ^if but for one such moment thou 
obeyest the impulse of thy manly pride, or thy just resent- 
ment, thou art lost for ever ; one show of violence, one word 
of affront, and thou givest the Duke the excuse he thirsts 


R 


258 


HAROLD 


for. Escape ! It is impossible. For the last five years I 
have pondered night and day the means of flight ; for I deem 
that my hostageship, by right, is long since over ; and no 
means have I seen or found. Spies dog my every step, as 
spies, no doubt, dog thine.’ 

^ Ha ! it is true,’ said Harold ; ^ never once have I wan- 
dered three paces from the camp or the troop, but, under 
some pretext, I have been followed by knight or courtier. 
God and our Lady help me, if but for England’s sake ! But 
what counsellest thou ? Boy, teach me ; thou hast been 
reared in this air of wile — to me it is strange, and I am as a 
wild beast encompassed by a circle of fire.’ 

‘^Then,’ answered Haco, ^meet craft by craft, smile by 
smile. Feel that thou art under compulsion, and act — as 
the Church itself pardons men for acting, so compelled.’ 

Harold started, and the blush spread red over his cheeks. 

Haco continued. 

^ Once in prison, and thou art lost evermore to the sight 
of men. William would not then dare to release thee — 
unless, indeed, he first rendered ’thee powerless to avenge. 
Though I will not malign him, and say that he himself is 
capable of secret murder, yet he has ever those about him 
who are. He drops in his wrath some hasty word ; it is 
seized by ready and ruthless tools. The great Count of 
Bretagne was in his way ; William feared him as he fears 
thee ; and in his own court, and amongst his own men, the 
great Count of Bretagne died by poison. For thy doom, 
open or secret, William, however, could find ample excuse.’ 

* How, boy ? What charge can the Norman bring against 
a free Englishman ? ’ 

‘ His kinsman Alfred,’ answered Haco, ^ was blinded, 
tortured, and murdered. And in the court of Rouen, they 
say these deeds were done by Godwin, thy father, llie 
Normans who escorted Alfred were decimated in cold blood ; 
again, they say Godwin thy father slaughtered them.’ 

^ It is hell’s own lie ! ’ cried Harold, ^ and so I have proved 
already to the Duke.’ 

‘ Proved ? No ! The lamb does not prove the cause 
which is prejudged by the wolf. Often and often have I 
heard the Normans speak of those deeds, and cry that 
vengeance yet shall await them. It is but to renew the old 
accusation, to say Godwin’s sudden death was God’s proof of 
his crime, and even Edward himself would forgive the Duke 
for thy bloody death. But grant the best ; grant that the 
more lenient doom were but the prison ; grant that Edward 
and the English invaded Normandy to enforce thy freedom ; 
knowest thou what William hath ere now done with 


HAROLD 


250 


hostages r He hath put them in the van of his army, and 
seared out their eyes in the sight of both hosts. Deemest 
thou he would he more gentle to us and to thee ? Such are 
thy dangers. Be bold and frank — and thou canst not 
escape them ; be wary and wise, promise and feign — and 
they are baffled : cover thy lion heart with the fox’s hide 
until thou art free from the toils.’ 

^ Leave me, leave me,’ said Harold, hastily. ^Yet, hold. 
Thou didst seem to understand me when I hinted of— in a 
word, what is the object William would gain from me ? ’ 

Haco looked round ; again went to the door — again opened 
and closed it — approached, and whispered, ^The crown of 
England!’ 

Tlie Earl bounded as if shot to the heart ; then again he 
cried, ^ Leave me. I must be alone — alone now. Go I go ! ’ 


CHAPTER VI 

Only in solitude could that strong man give way to his 
emotions ; and at first they rushed forth so confused and 
stormy, so hurtling one the other, that hours elapsed before 
he could serenely face the terrible crisis of his position. 

The great historian of Italy has said, that whenever the 
simple and truthful German came amongst the plotting and 
artful Italians, and experienced their duplicity and craft, he 
straightway became more false and subtle than the Italians 
themselves ; to his own countrymen, indeed, he continued 
to retain his characteristic sincerity and good faith ; but, 
once duped and tricked by the southern schemers, as if with 
a fierce scorn, he rejected troth with the truthless ; he 
exulted in mastering them in their own wily statesmanship ; 
and if reproached for insincerity, retorted, with naive won- 
der, ^ Ye Italians, and complain of insincerity ! How other- 
wise can one deal with you — how be safe amongst you ? ’ 

Somewhat of this revolution of all the natural elements of 
his character took place in Harold’s mind that stormy and 
solitary night. In the transport of his indignation, he 
resolved not doltishly to be thus outwitted to his ruin. 
’Fhe perfidious host had deprived himself of that privilege of 
Truth— the large and heavenly security of man ; — it was 
but a struggle of wit against wit, snare against snare. The 
state and law of warfare had started up in the lap of fraudful 
peace ; and ambush must be met by ambush, plot by plot. 

Such was the nature of the self-excuses by which the 


HAROLD 


2m 

Saxon defended his resolves^ and they appeared to him more 
sanctioned by the stake which depended on success — a stake 
which his undying patriotism allowed to be far more vast 
than his individual ambition. Nothing was more clear than 
that if he were detained in a Norman prison^ at the time of 
King Edward’s death, the sole obstacle to William’s design 
on the English throne would be removed. In the interim, 
the Duke’s intrigues would again surround the infirm King 
with Norman influences ; and in the absence both of any 
legitimate heir to the throne capable of commanding the 
trust of the people, and of his own preponderating ascend- 
ency both in the Witan and the armed militia of the nation, 
what could arrest the designs of the grasping Duke } Tlius 
his own liberty was indissolubly connected with that of his 
country ; — and for that great end, the safety of England, all 
means grew holy. 

When the next morning he joined the cavalcade, it was 
only by his extreme paleness that the struggle and agony of 
the past night could be traced, and he answered with corre- 
spondent cheerfulness William’s cordial greetings. 

As they rode together — still accompanied by several 
knights, and the discourse was thus general, the features of 
the country suggested the theme of the talk. For, now in 
the heart of Normandy, but in rural districts remote from 
the great towns, nothing could be more waste and neglected 
than the face of the land. Miserable and sordid to the last 
degree were the huts of the serfs ; and when these last met 
them on their way, half-naked and hunger-worn, there was 
a wild gleam of hate and discontent in their eyes, as they 
louted low to the Norman riders, and heard the bitter and 
scornful taunts with which they were addressed ; for the 
Norman and the Frank had more than indifference for the 
peasants of their land ; they literally both despised and 
abhorred them, as of different race from the conquerors. 
The Norman settlement especially was so recent in the land, 
that none of that amalgamation between class and class which 
centuries had created in England existed there ; though in 
England the theowe was wholly a slave, and the ceorl in a 
political servitude to his lord, yet public opinion, more mild 
than law, preserved the thraldom from wanton aggravation ; 
and slavery was felt to be wrong and unchristian. The 
Saxon Church — not the less perhaps for its very ignorance 
— sympathised more with the subject population, and was 
more associated with it, than the comparatively learned and 
haughty ecclesiastics of the Continent, who held aloof from 
the unpolished vulgar. The Saxon Church invariably set 
the example of freeing the theowe and emancipating the 


HAROLD 


261 


ceorl, and taught that sucli acts were to the salvation of the 
soul. The rude and homely manner in which the greater 
part of the Saxon thegns lived — dependent solely for their 
subsistence on their herds and agricultural produce, and 
therefore on the labour of their peasants — not only made 
the distinctions of rank less harsh and visible, but rendered 
it the interest of the lords to feed and clothe well their 
dependents. All our records of the customs of the Saxons 
prove the ample sustenance given to the poor, and a general 
care for their lives and rights, which, compared with the 
Frank laws, may be called enlightened and humane. And 
above all, the lowest serf ever had the great hope both of 
freedom and of promotion ; but the beast of the field was 
holier in the eyes of the Norman than the wretched villein. 
We have likened the Norman to the Spartan, and, most of 
all, he was like him in his scorn of the helot. 

Thus embruted and degraded, deriving little from religion 
itself, except its terrors, the general habits of the peasants 
on the continent of France were against the very basis of 
Christianity — marriage. They lived together for the most 
part without that tie, and hence the common name, with 
which they were called by their masters, lay and clerical, 
was the coarsest word contempt can apply to the sons of 
women. 

^The hounds glare at us,’ said Odo, as a drove of these 
miserable serfs passed along. ^ They need ever the lash to 
teach them to know the master. Are they thus mutinous 
and surly in England, Lord Harold } ’ 

^ No : but there our meanest theowes are not seen so clad, 
nor housed in such hovels,’ said the Earl. 

‘ And is it really true that a villein with you can rise to 
be a noble ? ’ 

^Of at least yearly occurrence. Perhaps the forefathers 
of one-fourth of our Anglo-Saxon thegns held the plough, 
or followed some craft mechanical.’ 

Duke William politicly checked Odo’s answer, and said, 
mildly — 

‘ Every land its own laws : and by them alone should it 
be governed by a virtuous and wise ruler. But, noble 
Harold, I grieve that you should thus note the sore point in 
my realm. I grant that the condition of the peasants and 
the culture of the land need reform. But in my childhood 
there was a fierce outbreak of rebellion among the villeins, 
needing bloody example to check, and the memories of 
wrath between lord and villein must sleep before we can do 
justice between them, as please St. Peter, and by Lanfranc’s 
aid, we hope to do. Meanwhile, one great portion of our 


202 


HAROLD 


villeinage in our larger towns we have much mitigated. Tor 
trade and commerce are the strength of rising states ; and 
if our fields are barren our streets are prosperous.’ 

Harold bowed, and rode musingly on. That civilisation 
he had so much admired bounded itself to the noble class, 
and, at farthest, to the circle of the Duke’s commercial 
policy. Beyond it, on the outskirts of humanity, lay the 
mass of the people. And here, no comparison in favour of 
the latter could be found between English and Norman 
civilisation. 

The towers of Bayeux rose dim in the distance, when 
William proposed a halt in a pleasant spot by the side of a 
small stream, overshadowed by oak and beech. A tent for 
himself and Harold was pitched in haste, and after an 
abstemious refreshment, the Duke, taking Harold’s arm, 
led him away from the train along the margin of the 
murmuring stream. 

They were soon in a remote, pastoral, primitive spot, a 
spot like those M'hich the old menestrels loved to describe, 
and in which some pious hermit might, pleased, have fixed 
his solitary home. 

Halting where a mossy bank jutted over the water, 
ATilliam motioned to his companion to seat himself, and 
reclining at his side, abstractedly took the pebbles from the 
margin and dropped them into the stream. They fell to the 
bottom with a hollow sound ; the circle they made on the 
surface widened, and was lost ; and the wave rushed and 
murmured on, disdainful. 

'Harold,’ said the Duke at last, 'thou hast thought, I 
fear, that I have trifled with thy impatience to return. 
But there is on my mind a matter of great moment to thee 
and to me, and it must out before thou canst depart. On 
this very spot where we now sit, sate in early youth, 
Edward thy King, and ATilliam thy host. Soothed by the 
loneliness of the place, and the music of the bell from the 
church tower, rising pale through yonder glade, Edward 
spoke of his desire for the monastic life, and of his content 
with his exile in the Norman land. Few then were the 
hopes that he should ever attain the throne of Alfred. I, 
more martial, and ardent for him as myself, combated the 
thought of the convent, and promised that, if ever occasion 
meet arrived, and he needed the Norman help, I would, 
with arm and heart, do a chief’s best to win him his lawful 
crown. Heedest thou me, dear Harold ? ’ 

' Ay, my host, with heart as with ear.’ 

'And Edward then, pressing my hand as I now press 
thine, while answering gratefully, promised, that if he did, 


HAROLD 


203 


contrary to all human foresight, gain his heritage, he, in 
case I survived him, would bequeath that heritage to me. 
Thy hand withdraws itself from mine.’ 

^ But from surprise. Duke William, proceed.’ 

' Now,’ resumed William, ^ when thy kinsmen were sent 
to me as hostages for the most powerful House in England 
— the only one that could thwart the desire of my cousin — 
I naturally deemed this a corroboration of his promise, and 
an earnest of his continued designs ; and in this I was 
reassured by the prelate, Robert, Archbishop of Canterbury, 
who knew the most secret conscience of your King. Where- 
fore my pertinacity in retaining those hostages ; wherefore 
my disregard to Edward’s mere remonstrances, which I not 
unnaturally conceived to be but his meek concessions to the 
urgent demands of thyself and House. Since then. Fortune 
or Providence hath favoured the promise of the King, and 
my just expectations founded thereon. For one moment, 
it seemed indeed that Edward regretted or reconsidered the 
pledge of our youth. He sent for his kinsman, the Atheling, 
natural heir to the throne. But the poor prince died. The 
son, a mere child, if I am rightly informed, the laws of thy 
land will set aside, should Edward die ere the child grow 
a man ; and, moreover, I am assured that the young Edgar 
hath no power of mind or intellect to wield so weighty a 
sceptre as that of England. Your King, also, even since 
your absence, hath had severe visitings of sickness, and ere 
another year his new Abbey may hold his tomb.’ 

William here paused ; again dropped the pebbles into the 
stream ; and glanced furtively on the unrevealing face of the 
Earl. He resumed — 

^Thy brother Tostig, as so nearly allied to my House, 
would, I am advised, back my claims ; and wert thou absent 
from England, Tostig, I conceive, would be in thy place as 
the head of the great party of Godwin. But to prove how 
little I care for thy brother’s aid compared with thine, and 
how implicitly 1 count on thee, 1 have openly told thee what 
a wilier plotter would have concealed — viz., the danger to 
which thy brother is menaced in his own earldom. To the 
point, then, I pass at once. I might, as my ransomed 
captive, detain thee here, until, without thee, I had won my 
English throne, and I know that thou alone couldst obstruct 
my just claims, or interfere with the King’s will, by which 
that appanage will be left to me. Nevertheless, I unbosom 
myself to thee, and would owe my crown solely to thine aid. 
I pass on to treat with thee, dear Harold, not as lord with 
vassal, but as prince with prince. On thy part, thou shalt 
hold for me the castle of Dover, to yield to my fleet when 


204 


HAROLD 


the hour comes ; thou shalt aid me in peace, and through 
thy National Witan, to succeed to Edward, by whose laws I 
will reign in all things conformably with the English rites, 
habits, and decrees. A stronger king to guard England 
from the Dane, and a more practised head to improve her 
prosperity, I am vain eno’ to say thou wilt not 'find in 
Christendom. On my part, I offer to thee my fairest 
daughter, Adeliza, to whom thou shalt be straightway 
betrothed : thine own young unwedded sister, Thyra, thou 
shalt give to one of my greatest barons : all the lands, 
dignities, and possessions thou boldest now, thou shalt still 
retain ; and if, as I suspect, thy brother Tostig cannot keep 
his vast principality north the Humber, it shall pass to thee. 
Whatever else thou canst demand in guarantee of my love 
and gratitude, or so to confirm thy power that thou shalt 
rule over thy countships as free and as powerful as the great 
Counts of Provence or Anjou reign in France over theirs, 
subject only to the mere form of holding in fief to the 
Suzerain, as I, stormy subject, hold Normandy under Philip 
of France — shall be given to thee. In truth, there will be 
two kings in England, though in name but one. And far 
from losing by the death of Edward, thou shalt gain by the 
subjection of every meaner rival, and the cordial love of thy 
grateful William. — Splendour of God, Earl, thou keepest me 
long for thine answer ! ’ 

^ What thou offerest,’ said the Earl, fortifying himself 
with the resolution of the previous night, and compressing 
his lips, livid with rage, ‘ is beyond my deserts, and all that 
the greatest chief under royalty could desire. But England 
is not Edward’s to leave, nor mine to give : its throne rests 
with the Witan.’ 

‘^And the Witan rests with thee,’ exclaimed William, 
sharply. ^ I ask but for possibilities, man ; I ask but all 
thine influence on my behalf ; and if it be less than I deem, 
mine is the loss. What dost thou resign.^ I will not 
presume to menace thee ; but thou wouldst indeed despise 
my folly, if now, knowing my designs, I let thee forth — not 
to aid, but to betray them. I know thou lovest England; so 
do I. Thou deemest me a foreigner ; true, but the Norman 
and Dane are of precisely the same origin. Thou, of the 
race of Canute, knowest how popular was the reign of that 
King. Why should William’s be less so ? Canute had no 
right whatsoever, save that of the sword. My right will be 
kinship to Edward — Edward’s wish in my favour — the 
consent through thee of the Witan — the absence of all other 
worthy heir — my wife’s clear descent from Alfred, which, in 
my children, restores the Saxon line, through its purest and 


noblest ancestry, to the throne. Think over all this, and 
then wilt thou tell me that I merit not this crown ? ’ 

Harold yet paused, and the fiery Duke resumed — 

* Are the terms I give not tempting eno’ to my captive — 
to the son of the great Godwin, who, no doubt falsely, but 
still by the popular voice of all Europe, had power of life 
and death over my cousin Alfred and my Norman knights ? 
or dost thou thyself covet the English crown ; and is it to a 
rival that I have opened my heart ? ^ 

^ Nay,’ said Harold in the crowning effort of his new and 
fatal lesson in simulation. ^Thou hast convinced me, 
Duke William : let it be as thou sayest.’ 

The Duke gave way to his joy by a loud exclamation, 
and then recapitulated the articles of the engagement, to 
which Harold simply bowed his head. Amicably then the 
Duke embraced the Earl, and the two returned towards the 
tent. 

While the steeds were brought forth, William took the 
opportunity to draw Odo apart ; and, after a short whispered 
conference, the prelate hastened to his barb, and spurred 
fast to Bayeux in advance of the party. All that day, and 
all that night, and all the next morn till noon, couriers and 
riders went abroad, north and south, east and west, to all 
the more famous abbeys and churches in Normandy, and 
holy and awful was the spoil with which they returned for 
the ceremony of the next day. 


CHAPTER VII 

The stately mirth of the evening banquet seemed to Harold 
as the malign revel of some demoniac orgy. He thought he 
read in every face the exultation over the sale of England. 
Every light laugh in the proverbial ease of the social Normans 
rang on his ear like the joy of a ghastly Sabbat. All his 
senses preternaturally sharpened to that magnetic keenness 
in which we less hear and see than conceive aj^d divine, the 
lowest murmur William breathed in the ear of Odo, boomed 
clear to his own ; the slightest interchange of glance between 
some dark-browed priest and large-breasted warrior, flashed 
upon his vision. The irritation of his recent and neglected 
wound, combined with his mental excitement to quicken 
yet to confuse his faculties. Body and soul were fevered, 
ke floated, as it were, between a delirium and a dream. 

Late in the evening he was led into the chamber where 


2G6 


HAROLD 


the Duchess sat alone with Adeliza and her second son 
William — a boy who had the red hair and florid hues of 
the ancestral Dane^ but was not without a certain hold and 
strange kind of beauty, and who, even in childhood, all 
covered with broidery and gems, betrayed the passion for 
that extravagant and fantastic foppery for which William the 
Red King, to the scandal of Church and pulpit, exchanged 
the decorous pomp of his father’s generation. A formal 
presentation of Harold to the little maid Mas followed by a 
brief ceremony of words, which conveyed M'hat to the 
scornful sense of the Earl seemed the mockery of betrothal 
between infant and bearded man. Glozing congratulations 
buzzed around him ; then there was a flash of lights on his 
dizzy eyes, he found himself moving through a corridor 
between Odo and William. He was in his room hung with 
arras and strewed Muth rushes ; before him in niches, various 
images of the Virgin, the Archangel Michael, St. Stephen, 
St. Peter, St. John, St. Valery ; and from the bells in the 
monastic edifice hard by tolled the third M atch of the night 
— the narrow casement was out of reach, high in the massive 
wall, and the starlight was darkened by the great church 
tower. Harold longed for air. All his earldom had he 
given at that moment to feel the cold blast of his native 
skies moaning round his Saxon wolds. He opened his door, 
and looked forth. A lanthorn swung on high from the 
groined roof of the corridor. By the lanthorn stood a tall 
sentry in arms, and its gleam fell red upon an iron grate 
that jealously closed the egress. The Earl closed the door, 
and sat down on his bed, covering his face with his clenched 
hand. The veins throbbed in every pulse, his own touch 
seemed to him like fire. The prophecies of Hilda on the 
fatal night by the bautasteiii, which had decided him to 
reject the prayer of Gurth, the fears of Edith, and the 
cautions of Edward, came back to him, dark, haunting, and 
overmasteringly. They rose between him and his sober 
sense, Mhenever he sought to recollect his thoughts, noM' to 
madden him M'ith the sense of his folly in belief, now to 
divert his mind from the perilous present to the triumphant 
future they foretold ; and of all the varying chants of the 
Vala, ever two lines seemed to burn into his memory, and 
to knell upon his ear as if they contained the counsel they 
ordained him to pursue : 

‘ Guile by guile oppose, and never 
Crown and brow shall Force dissever ! * 

So there he sat, locked and rigid, not reclining, not disrobing, 
till in that posture a haggard, troubled, fitful sleep came 


H A R O L i:) 


207 


oyer liim ; nor did lie wake till the hour of prime, when 
ringing bells and trampling feet, and the hum of prayer 
from the neighbouring chapel, roused him into waking yet 
more troubled, and wellnigh as dreamy. But now Godrith 
and Haco entered the room, and the former inquired with 
some surprise in his tone if he had arranged with the Duke 
to depart that day; ^For,’ said he, Hhe Duke’s hors-thegn 
has just been with me, to say that the Duke himself and a 
stately retinue are to accompany you this evening towards 
Harlleur, where a ship will be in readiness for our transport ; 
and I know that the chamberlain (a courteous and pleasant 
nian) is going round to my fellow-thegns in your train, with 
gifts of hawks, and chains, and broidered palls.’ 

^ It is so,’ said Haco, in ansM^er to Harold’s brightening 
and appealing eye. 

^ Go then, at once, Godrith,’ exclaimed the Earl, bounding 
to his feet, ^ have all in order to part at the first break of the 
trump. Never, I ween, did trump sound so cheerily as the 
blast that shall announce our return to England. Haste — 
haste!’ 

As Godrith, pleased in the Earl’s pleasure, though himself 
already much jfascinated by the honours he had received and 
the splendour he had witnessed, withdrew, Haco said, ‘^Thou 
hast taken my counsel, noble kinsman ? ’ 

^ Question me not, Haco ! Out of my memory, all that 
hath passed here ! ’ 

^ Not yet,’ said Haco, with that gloomy and intense serious- 
ness of voice and aspect, which was so at variance with his 
years, and which impressed all he said with an indescribable 
authority. Not yet ; for even while the chamberlain went 
his round with the parting gifts, I, standing in the angle of 
the wall in the yard, heard the Duke’s deep whisper to Roger 
Bigod, who has the guard of the keape, “ Have all the men 
armed at noon in the passage below the council-hall, to mount 
at the stamp of my foot : and if then I give thee a prisoner 

— wonder not, but lodge him ” The Duke paused ; and 

Bigod said, Where, my liege ? ” And the Duke answered 
fiercely, Where why where but in the Tournoir? — where 
but in the cell in which Malvoisin rotted out his last hour ? ” 
Not yet, then, let the memory of Norman wile pass away ; 
let the lip guard the freedom still.’ 

All the bright native soul that before Haco spoke had 
dawned gradually back on the Earl’s fair face, now closed 
itself up, as the leaves of a poisoned flower ; and the pupil 
of the eye receding, left to the orb that secret and strange 
expression w hich had baffled all readers of the heart in the 
look of his impenetrable father. 


268 


HAROLD 


^ Guile by guile oppose!’ he muttered vaguely; then 
started, clenched his hand, and smiled. 

In a few moments, more than the usual lev’^ee of Norman 
nobles thronged into the room ; and what with the wonted 
order of the morning, in the repast, the church service of 
tierce, and a ceremonial visit to Matilda, who confirmed the 
intelligence that all was in preparation for his departure, 
and charged him with gifts of her own needlework to his 
sister the Queen, and various messages of gracious nature, 
the time waxed late into noon without his having yet seen 
either William or Odo. 

He w'as still with Matilda, when the Lords Fitzosborne and 
Raoul de Tancarville entered in full robes of state, and with 
countenances unusually composed and grave, and prayed the 
Earl to accompany them into the Duke’s presence. 

Harold obeyed in silence, not unprepared for covert 
danger, by the formality of the counts, as by the warnings 
of Haco ; but, indeed, undivining the solemnity of the 
appointed snare. On entering the lofty hall, he beheld 
William seated in state ; his sword of office in his hand, his 
ducal robe on his imposing form, and with that peculiarly 
erect air of the head which he assumed upon all ceremonial 
occasions. Behind him stood Odo of Bayeux, in aube and 
pallium ; some score of the Duke’s greatest vassals ; and at 
a little distance from the throne chair, was what seemed a 
table, or vast chest, covered all over with cloth of gold. 

Small time for wonder or self-collection did the Duke giv^e 
the Saxon. 

^Approach, Harold,’ said he, in the full tones of that 
voice, so singularly effective in command ; ^ approach, and 
without fear, as without regret. Before the members of 
this noble assembly — all witnesses of thy faith, and all 
guarantees of mine — I summon thee to confirm l)y oath the 
promises thou mad’st me yesterday ; namely, to aid me to 
obtain the kingdom of England on the death of King 
Edward, my cousin ; to marry my daughter Adeliza ; and 
to send thy sister hither, that I may wed her, as we agreed, 
to one of my worthiest and prowest counts. Advance thou, 
Odo, my brother, and repeat to the noble Earl the Norman 
form by which he will take the oath.’ 

Then Odo stood forth by that mysterious receptacle 
covered with the cloth of gold, and said briefly, ^Thou wilt 
swear, as far as is in thy power, to fulfil thy agreement with 
William, Duke of the Normans, if thou live, and God aid 
thee ; and in witness of that oath thou wilt lay thy hand 
upon the reliquaire,’ pointing to a small box that lay on the 
cloth of gold. 


HAROLD 


269 


All this was so sudden — all flashed so rapidly upon the 
Earl, whose natural intellect, however great, was, as we have 
often seen, more deliberate than prompt — so thoroughly was 
the bold heart, which no siege could have sapped, taken by 
surprise and guile — so paramount through all the, whirl and 
tumult of his mind, rose the thought of England irrevocably 
lost, if he who alone could save her was in the Norman 
dungeons — so darkly did all Haco’s fears, and his own just 
suspicions, quell and master him, that mechanically, dizzily, 
dreamily, he laid his hand on the reliquaire, and repeated, 
with automaton lips — 

^ If I live, and if God aid me to it ! ’ 

Then all the assembly repeated solemnly — 

‘ God aid him ! ’ 

And suddenly, at a sign from William, Odo and Raoul de 
Tancarville raised the gold cloth, and the Duke’s voice bade 
Harold look below. 

As when man descends from the gilded sepulchre to the 
loathsome charnel, so at the lifting of that cloth, all the 
dread ghastliness of Death was revealed. There, from abbey 
and from church, from cyst and from shrine, had been 
collected all the relics of human nothingness in which 
superstition adored the mementos of saints divine ; there lay, 
pell-mell and huddled, skeleton and mummy — the dry dark 
skin, the w'hite gleaming bones of the dead, mockingly cased 
in gold, and decked with rubies ; there, grim fingers pro- 
truded through the hideous chaos, and pointed towards the 
living man ensnared ; there, the skull grinned scofi* under 
the holy mitre ; — and suddenly rushed back, luminous and 
searing, upon Harold’s memory, the dream long forgotten, 
or but dimly remembered in the healthful business of life — 
the gibe and the wirble of the dead men’s bones. 

^At that sight,’ say the Norman chronicles, ^the Earl 
shuddered and trembled.’ 

^ Awful, indeed, thine oath, and natural thine emotion,’ 
said the Duke ; ‘ for in that cyst are all those relics which 
religion deems the holiest in our land. The dead have heard 
thine oath, and the saints even now record it in the halls of 
heaven ! Cover again the holy bones ! ’ 


‘iv • 


BOOK X 


THE SACRIFICE ON THE ALTAR 


CHAPTER I 

The good Bishop Aired, now raised to the See of York, had 
been summoned from his cathedral seat by Edward, who had 
indeed undergone a severe illness, during the absence of 
Harold; and that illness had been both preceded and fol- 
lowed by mystical presentiments of the evil days that were 
to fall on England after his death. He had therefore sent 
for the best and the holiest prelate in his realm, to advise 
and counsel with. 

The Bishop had returned to his lodging in London (which 
was in a Benedictine Abbey, not far from the Aldgate), late 
one evening, from visiting the King at his rural palace of 
Havering ; and he was seated alone in his cell, musing over 
an interview with Edward, which had evidently much dis- 
turbed him, when the door was abruptly thrown open and, 
pushing aside in haste the monk who was about formally to 
announce him, a man so travelled-stained in garb, and of a 
mien so disordered, rushed in, that Aired gazed at first as on 
a stranger, and not till the intruder spoke did he recognise 
Harold the Earl. Even then, so wild was the Earl’s eye, so 
dark his brow, and so livid his cheek, that it rather seemed 
the ghost of the man than the man himself. Closing the 
door on the monk, the Earl stood a moment on the threshold, 
with a breast heaving with emotions which he sought in vain 
to master ; and, as if resigning the effort, he sprang forward, 
clasped the prelate’s knees, bowed his head on his lap, and 
sobbed aloud. The good bishop, who had known all the 
sons of Godwin from their infancy, and to whom Harold was 
as dear as his own child, folding his hands over the Earl’s 
head, soothingly murmured a benediction. 

^ No, no,’ cried the Earl, starting to his feet, and tossing 
the dishevelled hair from his eyes. ^ Bless me not vet ! 

270 * 


HAROLD 


271 


Hear my tale first, and then say what comfort, what refuge, 
thy Church can bestow !’ 

Hurriedly then the Earl poured forth the dark story already 
known to the reader — the prison at Belrem, the detention 
at William’s court, the fears, the snares, the discourse by 
the river-side, the oath over the relics. This told, he 
continued, ^ I found myself in the open air, and knew not, 
till the light of the sun smote me, what might have passed 
into my soul. I was, before, as a corpse which a witch 
raises from the dead, endows with a spirit not its own — 
passive to her hand — life-like, not living. Then, then it 
was as if a demon had passed from my body, laughing scorn 
at the foul things it had made the clay do. O, father, 
father ! is there not absolution from this oath — an oath I 
dare not keep rather perjure myself than betray my land ! ’ 

The prelate’s face was as pale as Harold’s, and it was some 
moments before he could reply. 

^ The Church can loose and unloose — such is its delegated 
authority. But speak on ; what saidst thou at the last to 
William } ’ 

know not, remember not — aught save these words. 
^^Now, then, give me those for whom I placed myself in thy 
power ; let me restore Haco to his fatherland, and W olnoth 
to his mother’s kiss, and wend home my way.” And, saints 
in heaven ! what was the answer of this caitiff Norman, with 
his glittering eye and venomed smile ? Haco thou shalt 
have, for he is an orphan, and an uncle’s love is not so hot 
as to burn from a distance ; but Wolnoth, thy mother’s son, 
must stay with me as a hostage for thine own faith. Godwin’s 
hostages are released ; Harold’s hostage I retain ; it is but a 
form, yet these forms are the bonds of princes.” 

looked at him, and his eye quailed. And I said, 
^^That is not in the compact.” And William ansv^ered, 
^^No, but it is the seal to it.” Then I turned from the 
Duke and I called my brother to my side, and I said, Over 
the seas have I come for thee. Mount thy steed and ride by 
my side, for I will not leave the land without thee.” And 
Wolnoth answered, ^^Nay, Duke William tells me that he 
hath made treaties with thee, for which I am still to be the 
hostage ; and Normandy has grown my home, and I love 
William as my lord.” Hot words followed, and Wolnoth, 
chafed, refused entreaty and command, and suffered me to 
see that his heart was not with England ! O, mother, 
mother, how shall I meet thine eye! So I returned with 
Haco. The moment I set foot on my native England, that 
moment her form seemed to rise from the tall cliffs, her 
voice to speak in the winds ! All the glamour by which I 


272 


HAROLD 


had been bound, forsook me ; and I sprang forv\ ard in scorn, 
above the fear of the dead men’s bones. Miserable overcraft 
of the snarer ! Had my simple word alone bound me, or 
that word been ratified after slow and deliberate thought, 
by the ordinary oaths that appeal to God, far stronger the 
bond upon my soul than the mean surprise, the covert 
tricks, the insult and the mocking fraud. But as I rode 
on, the oath pursued me — pale spectres mounted behind me 
on my steed, ghastly fingers pointed from the welkin ; and 
then suddenly, O my father — I who, sincere in my simple 
faith, had, as thou knowest too well, never bowed sub- 
missive conscience to priest and Church — then suddenly I 
felt the might of some power, surer guide than that haughty 
conscience which had so in the hour of need betrayed me ! 
Then I recognised that supreme tribunal, that mediator 
between Heaven and man, to which I might come with the 
dire secret of my soul, and say, as I say now, on my bended 
knee, O father — father — bid me die, or absolve me from my 
oath ! ’ 

Then Aired rose erect, and replied, ^Did I need sub- 
terfuge, O son, 1 would say, that William himself hath 
released thy bond, in detaining the hostage against the spirit 
of the guilty compact ; that in the very words themselves 
of the oath, lies the release — if God aid theef God aids 
no child to parricide — and thou art England’s child. But 
all school casuistry is here a meanness. Plain is the law, 
that oaths extorted by compulsion, through fraud and in 
fear, the Church hath the right to loose : plainer still the 
law of God and of man, that an oath to commit crime it is 
a deadlier sin to keep than to forfeit. Wherefore, not 
absolving thee from the misdeed of a vow that, if trusting 
more to God’s providence and less to man’s vain strength 
and dim wit, thou wouldst never have uttered even for 
England’s sake — leaving her to the angels ; not, I say, 
absolving thee from that sin, but pausing yet to decide 
what penance and atonement to fix to its committal, I do 
in the name of the Power whose priest I am, forbid thee 
to fulfil the oath ; I do release and absolve thee from all 
obligation thereto. And if in this I exceed my authority 
as Romish priest, I do but accomplish my duties as living 
man. To these grey hairs I take the sponsorship. Before 
this holy cross, kneel, O my son, with me, and pray that a 
life of truth and virtue may atone the madness of an hour.’ 

So by the crucifix knelt the warrior and the priest. 


CHAPTER II 


All other thought had given way to Harold’s impetuous 
yearning to throw himself upon the Church, to hear his 
doom from the purest and wisest of its Saxon preachers. 
Had the prelate deemed his vow irrefragable, he M ould have 
died the Roman’s death, rather than live the traitor’s life ; 
and strange indeed was the revolution created in this man’s 
character, that he, ‘ so self-dependent,’ he m ho had hitherto 
deemed himself his sole judge below of cause and action, 
now felt the M'hole life of his life committed to the word of 
a cloistered shaveling. All other thought had given way to 
that fiery impulse — home, mother, Edith, king, power, 
policy, ambition ! Till the weight was from his soul, he 
M’as as an outlaw in his native land. But when the next 
sun rose, and that awful burthen was lifted from his heart 
and his being — when his own calm sense, returning, 
sanctioned the fiat of the priest — when, though with deep 
shame and rankling remorse at the memory of the vow, 
lie yet felt exonerated, not from the guilt of having made, 
but the deadlier guilt of fulfilling it — all the objects of 
existence resumed their natural interest, softened and 
chastened, but still vivid in the heart restored to humanity. 
But from that time, Harold’s stern philosophy and stoic 
ethics M’ere shaken to the dust ; re-created, as it were, by 
the breath of religion, he adopted its tenets even after the 
fashion of his age. Tlie secret of his shame, the error of 
his conscience, humbled him. Those unlettered monks 
whom he had so despised, how had he lost the right to 
stand aloof from their control ! how had his wisdom, and 
his strength, and his courage, met unguarded the hour of 
temptation ! 

Yes, might the time come when England could spare 
him from her side ! when he, like Sweyn the outlaw, could 
pass a pilgrim to the Holy Sepulchre, and there, as the 
creed of the age taught, win full pardon for the single lie 
of his truthful life, and regain the old peace of his stainless 
conscience ! 

There are sometimes event, and season in the life of man 
the hardest and most rational, when he is driven perforce 
to faith the most implicit and submissive ; as the storm 
drives the usings of the petrel over a measureless sea, till it 
falls tame, and rejoicing at refuge, on the sails of some 
lonely ship. Seasons when difficulties, against which reason 
seems stricken into palsy, leave him bewildered in dismay 
— when darkness, which experience cannot pierce, wraps 

s 


HAROLD 


274 

the couscieuce, as sudden night wraps the traveller in the 
desert— when error entangles his feet in its inextricable web 
—when, still desirous of the right, he sees before him but 
a choice of evil ; and the Angel of the Past, with a flaming 
sword, closes on him the gates of the Future. Then, Faith 
flashes on him, with a light from the cloud. Then, he 
clings to Prayer as a drowning wretch to the plank. Then, 
that solemn authority which clothes the Priest, as the 
interpreter between the soul and the Divinity, seizes on 
the heart that trembles with terror and joy; then, that 
mysterious recognition of Atonement, of sacriflce, of puri- 
fying lustration (mystery which lies hid in the core of all 
religions), smooths the frown on the Past, removes the 
flaming sword from the Future. The Orestes escapes from 
the hounding Furies, and follows the oracle to the spot 
where the cleansing dews shall descend on the expiated guilt. 

He who hath never known in himself, nor marked in 
another, such strange crisis in human fate, cannot judge of 
the strength and the weakness it bestows. But till he can 
so judge, the spiritual part of all history is to him a blank 
scroll, a sealed volume. He cannot comprehend what drove 
the fierce Heathen, cowering and humbled, into the fold of 
the Church ; what peopled Egypt with eremites ; what 
lined the roads of Europe and Asia with pilgrim homicides ; 
what, in the elder world, while Jove yet reigned on 
Olympus, is couched in the dim traditions of the expiation 
of Apollo, the joy-god, descending into Hades ; or wdiy the 
sinner went blithe and light-hearted from the healing lustra- 
tions of Eleusis. In all these solemn riddles of the Jove 
world and the Christ’s is involved the imperious necessity 
that man hath of repentance and atonement ; through their 
clouds, as a rainbow, shines the covenant that reconciles the 
God and the man. 

Now Life with strong arms plucked the reviving Harold 
to itself. Already the news of his return had spread through 
the city, and his chamber soon swarmed with joyous welcomes 
and anxious friends. But the first congratulations over, 
each had tidings, that claimed his instant attention, to 
relate. His absence had sufficed to loosen half the links of 
that ill-woven empire. 

All the North was in arms. Northumbria had revolted 
as one man, from the tyrannous cruelty of Tostig ; the 
insurgents had marched upon York ; Tostig had fled in 
dismay, none as yet knew whither. The sons of Algar had 
sallied forth from their Mercian fortresses, and were now 
in the ranks of the Northumbrians, who it was rumoured 
had selected Morcar (the elder) in the place of Tostig. 


HAROLD 


275 



Amidst these disasters, the King’s health was fast decay- 
ing ; his mind seemed bewildered and distraught ; dark 
ravings of evil portent that had escaped from his lip in his 
mystic reveries and visions, had spread abroad, bandied with 
all natural exaggerations, from lip to lip. The country was 
in one state of gloomy and vague apprehension. 

But all w'ould go well, now Harold the great Earl — Harold 
the stout, and the wise, and the loved — had come back to 
his native land ! 

In feeling himself thus necessary to England — all eyes, 
all hopes, all hearts turned to him, and to him alone — 
Harold shook the evil memories from his soul, as a lion 
shakes the dews from his mane. His intellect, that seemed 
to have burned dim and through smoke in scenes unfamiliar 
to its exercise, rose at once equal to the occasion. His 
words reassured the most despondent. His orders were 
prompt and decisive. While, to and fro, went forth his 
bodes and his riders, he himself leaped on his horse, and 
rode fast to Havering. 

At length, that sweet and lovely retreat broke on his 
sight, as a bower through the bloom of a garden. This was 
Edward’s favourite abode : he had built it himself for his 
pri^'ate devotions, allured by its woody solitudes and the 
gloom of its copious verdure. Here it was said, that once 
at night, wandering through the silent glades, and musing 
on heaven, the loud song of the nightingales had disturbed 
his devotions ; with vexed and impatient soul, he had prayed 
that the music might be stilled : and since then, never more 
the nightingale was heard in the shades of Havering ! 

Threading the woodland, melancholy yet glorious with 
the hues of autumn, Harold reached the low and humble 
gate of the timber edifice, all covered with creepers and 
young ivy ; and in a few moments more he stood in the 
presence of the King. 

Edward raised himself with pain from the couch on which 
he was reclined, beneath a canopy supported by columns 
and surmounted by carved symbols of the bell-towers of 
Jerusalem : and his languid face brightened at the sight of 
Harold. Behind the King stood a man with a Danish 
battle-axe in his hand, the captain of the royal house-carles, 
w^ho, on a sign from the King, withdrew. 

^ Thou art come back, Harold,’ said Edward then, in a 
feeble voice ; and the Earl drawing near, was grieved and 
shocked at the alteration of his face. ^ Thou art come back, 
to aid this benumbed hand, from which the earthly sceptre 
is about to fall. Hush ! for it is so, and I rejoice.’ Then 
examining Harold’s features, yet pale with recent emotions. 


276 


HAROLD 


and now saddened by sympathy with the King, he resumed : 
— ^ Well, man of this world, that went forth confiding in 
thine own strength, and in the faith of men of the world 
like thee — well, were my warnings prophetic, or art thou 
contented with thy mission ? ’ 

* Alas ! ’ said Harold, mournfully. ^ Thy wisdom w^as 
greater than mine, O King ; and dread the snares laid for 
me and our native land, under pretext of a promise made 
by thee to Count William, that he should reign in England, 
should he be your survivor. ’ 

Edward’s face grew troubled and embarrassed. ‘^Such 
promise,’ he said, falteringly, when I knew not the law^s 
of England, nor that a realm could not pass like house and 
hyde by a man’s single testament, might well escape from 
my thoughts, never too bent upon earthly alFairs. But I 
marvel not that my cousin’s mind is more tenacious and 
mundane. And verily, in those vague w'ords, and from 
thy visit, I see the Future dark with fate and crimson with 
blood.’ 

Then Edward’s eyes grew locked and set, staring into 
space ; and even that reverie, though it awed him, relieved 
Harold of much disquietude, for he rightly conjectured, 
that on waking from it Edward w ould press him no more 
as to those details, and dilemmas of conscience, of which he 
felt that the arch-worshipper of relics was no fitting judge. 

When the King, with a heavy sigh, evinced return from 
the world of vision, he stretched forth to Harold his wan, 
transparent hand, and said — 

^ Thou seest the ring on this finger ; it comes to me from 
above, a merciful token to prepare my soul for death. 
Perchance thou mayest have heard that once an aged 
pilgrim stopped me on my way from God’s House, and 
asked for alms — and I, having nought else on my person 
to bestow, drew^ from my finger a ring, and gave it to him, 
and the old man went his w^ay, blessing me.’ 

‘ I mind me well of thy gentle charity,’ said the Earl ; 

^ for the pilgrim bruited it abroad as he passed, and much 
talk was there of it.’ 

The King smiled faintly. ^Now this was years ago. 
It so chanced this year, that certain Eiiglishers, on their 
way from the Holy Land, fell in with two pilgrims — and 
these last questioned them much of me. And one, with 
face venerable and benign, drew forth a ring and said, 
^WFhen thou reachest England, give thou this to the King’s 
ow'ii hand, and say, by this token, that on Twelfth-Day 
Eve he shall be with me. For what he gave to me, will I 
prepare recompense w ithout Imuiid ; and already the saints 


HAROLD 


277 


deck for the new comer the halls where the worm never 
gnaws and the moth never frets.” And who/’ asked my 
subjects amazed, who shall we say, speaketh thus to us ? 
And the pilgrim answered, ^^He on whose breast leaned 
the Son of God, and my name is John !” Wherewith the 
apparition vanished. This is the ring I gave to the pilgrim; 
on the fourteenth night fi-om thy parting, miraculously 
returned to me. Wherefore, Harold, my time here is 
brief, and I rejoice that thy coming delivers me up from 
the cares of state to the preparation of my soul for the 
joyous day.’ 

Harold, suspecting under this incredible mission some 
wily device of the Norman, who, by thus warning Edward 
(of whose precarious health he was well aware), might induce 
his timorous conscience to take steps for the completion of 
the old promise — Harold, we say, thus suspecting, in vain 
endeavoured to combat the King’s presentiments, but 
Edward interrupted him, with displeased firmness of look 
and tone — 

^ Come not thou, with thy human reasonings, between 
my soul and the messenger divine ; but rather nerve and 
prepare thyself for the dire calamities that lie greeding 
in the days to come ! Be thine, things temporal. All the 
land is in rebellion. Aiilaf, whom thy coming dismissed, 
hath just wearied me with sad tales of bloodshed and ravage. 
Go and hear him ; go hear the bodes of thy brother Tostig, 
who wait without in our hall ; go, take axe, and take shield, 
and the men of earth’s war, and do justice and right ; and 
on thy return thou shalt see with what rapture sublime a 
Christian King can soar aloft from his throne ! Go ! ’ 

More moved, and more softened, than in the former day 
he had been with Edward’s sincere, if fanatical piety, Harold, 
turning aside to conceal his face, said — 

^ Would, O royal Edward, that my heart, amidst worldly 
cares, were as pure and serene as thine ! But, at least, what 
erring mortal may do to guard this realm, and face the evils 
thou foreseest in the far — that will I do ; and, perchance 
then, in my dying hour, God’s pardon and peace may 
descend on me ! ’ He spoke, and went. 

The accounts he received from Anlaf (a veteran Anglo- 
Dane) were indeed more alarming than he had yet heard. 
Morcar, the bold son of Algar, was already proclaimed, by 
the rebels, Earl of Northumbria ; the shires of Nottingham, 
Derby, and Lincoln, had poured forth their hardy Dane 
populations on his behalf. All Mercia was in arms under 
his brother Edwin ; and many of the Cymrian chiefs had 
already joined the ally of the butchered Gryifyth. 


27a 


HAROLD 


Not a moment did the Earl lose in proclaiming the 
Herrbann ; sheaves of arrows were splintered, and the 
fragments, as announcing the War-Fyrd, were sent from 
thegn to thegn, and town to town. Fresh messengers 
were despatched to Gurth to collect the whole force of his 
own earldom, and haste by quick marches to London ; and, 
these preparations made, Harold returned to the metro- 
polis, and with a heavy heart sought his mother, as h* 
next care. 

Githa was already prepared for his news ; for Haco had 
of his own accord gone to break the first shock of dis- 
appointment. There was in this youth a noiseless sagacity 
that seemed ever provident for Harold. ^Fith his sombre, 
smileless cheek, and gloom of beauty, bowed as if beneath 
the weight of some invisible doom, he had already become 
linked indissolubly with the Earl’s fate, as its angel — but 
as its angel of darkness ? 

To Harold’s intense relief, Githa stretched forth her hands 
as he entered, and said, ^ Thou hast failed me, hut against 
thy will ! Grieve not ; I am content ! ’ 

^ Now our Lady be blessed, mother ’ 

^ I have told her,’ said Haco, who was standing, with arms 
folded, by the fire, the blaze of which reddened fitfully his 
hueless countenance with its raven hair ; ‘ I have tqld thy 
mother that Wolnoth loves his captivity, and enjoys the 
cage. And the lady hath had comfort in my words.’ 

^ Not in thine only, son of Sweyn, but in those of fate ; 
for before thy coming I prayed against the long blind 
yearning of my heart, prayed that Wolnoth might not cross 
the sea with his kinsmen.’ 

^How !’ exclaimed the Earl, astonished. 

Githa took his arm, and led him to the farther end of 
the ample chamber, as if out of the hearing of Haco, who 
turned his face towards the fire, and gazed into the fierce 
blaze with musing, unwinking eyes. 

^Couldst thou think, Harold, that in thy journey, that 
on the errand of so great fear and hope, I could sit brooding 
in my chair, and count the stitches on the tremulous hang- 
ings ? No ; day by day have I sought the lore of Hilda, 
and at night I have watched with her by the fount, and the 
elm, and the tomb ; and I know that thou hast gone through 
dire peril : the prison, the war, and the snare ; and I know 
also, that his Fylgia hath saved the life of my W olnoth ; for 
had he returned to his native land, he had returned but to 
a bloody grave ! ’ 

^ Says Hilda this ? ’ said the Earl, thoughtfully. 

^ So say the Vala, the rune, and the Scin-lseca ! and such 




HAROLD 


270 




is the doom that now darkens the brow of Haco ! Seest 
thou not that the hand of death is in the hush of the smile- 
less lip, and the glance of the unjoyous eye ? ' 

'Nay, it is but the thought born to captive youth, and 
nurtured in solitary dreams. Thou hast seen Hilda ? — and 
Edith, my mother ? Edith is ' 

'Well/ said Githa, kindly, for she sympathised with that 
love which Godwin would have condemned, 'though she 
grieved deeply after thy departure, and would sit for hours 
gazing into space, and moaning. But even ere Hilda 
divined thy safe return, Edith knew it ; I was beside her 
at the time; she started up, and cried — "Harold is in 
England ! ” — "How ? — Why thinkest thou so } ” said 1. And 
Edith answered, " I feel it by the touch of the earth, by the 
breath of the air.* This is more than love, Harold. I 
knew two twins who had the same instinct of each other’s 
comings and goings, and were present each to each even 
when absent : Edith is twin to thy soul. Thou goest to 
her now, Harold : thou wilt find there thy sister Thyra. 
The child hath drooped of late, and I besought Hilda to 
revive her, with herb and charm. Thou wilt come back, 
ere thou departest to aid Tostig, thy brother, and tell me 
how Hilda hath prospered with my ailing child } ’ 

' I will, my mother. Be cheered ! — Hilda is a skilful 
nurse. And now bless thee, that thou hast not reproached 
me that my mission failed to fulfil my promise. Welcome 
even our kinswoman’s sayings, sith they comfort thee for 
the loss of thy darling ! ’ 

Then Harold left the room, mounted his steed, and rode 
through the town towards the bridge. He was compelled 
to ride slowly through the streets, for he was recognised ; 
and cheapman and mechanic rushed from house and from 
stall to hail the Man of the Land and the Time. 

' All is safe now in England, for Harold is come back ! ’ 
They seemed joyous as the children of the mariner, when, 
with w'et garments, he struggles to shore through the 
storm. And kind and loving were Harold’s looks and 
brief words, as he rode with vailed bonnet through the 
swarming streets. 

At length he cleared the town and the bridge ; and the 
yellowing boughs of the orchards drooped over the road 
towards the Roman home, when, as he spurred his steed, he 
heard behind him hoofs as in pursuit, looked back, and 
beheld Haco. He drew rein — 'What wantest thou, my 
nephew ? ’ 

' Thee ! ’ answered Haco, briefly, as he gained his side, 
' Thy companionship. ’ 


I 


280 


HAROLD 


^ Thanks, Haco ; but I pray thee to stay in my mother’s 
house, for I would fain ride alone.’ 

^ Spurn me not from thee, Harold ! This England ’s to 
me the land of the stranger ; in thy mother’s house I feel 
but the more the orphan. Henceforth I have devoted to 
thee my life ! And my life my dead and dread father hath 
left to thee, as a doom or a blessing ; wherefore cleave I to 
thy side — cleave we in life and in death to each other ! ’ 

An undefined and cheerless thrill shot through the Earl’s 
heart as the youth spoke thus ; and the remembrance that 
Haco’s counsel had first induced him to abandon his natural 
hardy and gallant manhood, meet wile by wile, and thus 
suddenly entangled him in his own meshes, had already 
mingled an inexpressible bitterness with his pity and 
affection for his brother’s son. But, struggling against 
that uneasy sentiment, as unjust towards one to whose 
counsel — however sinister, and now repented — he probably 
owed, at least, his safety and deliverance, he replied, 
gently — 

^ I accept thy trust and thy love, Haco ! Ride with me, 
then ; but pardon a dull comrade, for when the soul 
communes with itself the lip is silent.’ 

^True,’ said Haco, ^and I am no babbler. Three things 
are ever silent : Thought, Destiny, and the Grave.’ 

Each then, pursuing his own fancies, rode on fast, and 
side by side ; the long shadows of declining day struggling 
with a sky of unusual brightness, and thrown from the dim 
forest trees and the distant hillocks. Alternately through 
shade and through light rode they on ; the bulls gazing on 
them from holt and glade, and the boom of the bittern 
sounding in its peculiar mournfulness of tone as it rose from 
the dank pools that glistened in the western sun. 

It was always by the rear of the house, where stood the 
ruined temple, so associated with the romance of his life, 
that Harold approached the home of the Vala ; and as now 
the hillock, with its melancholy diadem of stones, came in 
view, Haco for the first time broke the silence. 

' Again — as in a dream ! ’ he said, abruptly. ^ Hill, 
ruin, grave-mound— but where the tall image of the mighty 
one ?* 

^ Hast thou then seen this spot before ? ’ asked the Earl. 

Yea, as an infant here was I led by my father Sweyn ; 
here too, from thy house yonder, dim seen through the 
fading leaves, on the eve before I left this land for the 
Norman, here did I wander alone ; and there, by that altar, 
did the great Vala of the North chant her runes for mv 
future,’ ' 


HAROLD 281 

^ Alas ! thou too ! ’ murmured Harold ; and then he asked 
aloud, ^ What said she ? ’ 

^ That thy life and mine crossed each other in the skein : 
that I should save thee from a great peril, and share with 
thee a greater. ’ 

^Ah, youth,’ answered Harold, bitterly, ‘these vain 
prophecies of human wit guard the soul from no danger, 
’fhey mislead us by riddles which our hot hearts interpret 
according to their own desires. Keep thou fast to youth’s 
simple wisdom, and trust only to the pure spirit and the 
watchful God.’ 

He suppressed a groan as he spoke, and springing from 
his steed, which he left loose, advanced up the hill. When 
he had gained the height, he halted, and made sign to 
Haco, who had also dismounted, to do the same. Half-way 
down the side of the slope which faced the ruined peristyle, 
Haco beheld a maiden, still young, and of beauty surpassing 
all that the court of Normandy boasted of female loveliness. 
She was seated on the sward — while a girl younger, and 
scarcely indeed grown into womanhood, reclined at her 
feet, and leaning her cheek upon her hand, seemed hushed 
in listening attention. In the face of the younger girl 
Haco recognised Tliyra, the last-born of Githa, though he 
had but once seen her t3efore--the day ere he left England 
for the Norman court — for the face of the girl was but little 
changed, save that the eye was more mournful, and the 
cheek was paler. 

And Harold’s betrothed was singing, in the still autumn 
air, to Harold’s sister. The song chosen was on that 
subject the most popular with the Saxon poets, the mystic 
life, death, and resurrection of the fabled Phoenix, and this 
rhymeless song, in its old native flow, may yet find some 
grace in the modern ear. 

THE LAY OF THE PHCENIX. 

‘ Shineth far hence — so 
Sing the wise elders — 

Far to the fire-east 
The fairest of lands. 

‘ Daintily flight is that 
Dearest of joy fields ; 

Breezes all balm-y-filled 
Glide through its groves. 

* There to the blest, ope 
The high doors of heaven, 

Sweetly sweep earthward 
Their wavelets of song. 


2B2 


HAROLD 


‘ Frost robes the sward not, 

Riisheth no hail-steel ; \ • 

"Wind-cloud ne’er wanders, 

Ne’er falleth the rain. 

‘ Warding the woodholt, ^ 

Girt with gay wonder, 

Sheen with the plumy shine, 

Phoenix abides. 

‘ Lord of the Lleod, 

Whose home is the air, 

Winters a thousand 
Abideth the bird. 

‘ Hapless and heavy then 
Waxeth the hazy wing ; 

Year- worn and old in the 
Whirl of the earth. 

‘ Then the high holt-top, 

Mounting, the bird soars ; 

There, where the winds sleep, 

He buildeth a nest 

‘ Gums the most precious, and 
Balms of the sweetest, 

Spices and odours, he / 

Weaves in the nest. 

‘ There, in that sun-ark, lo, 

Waiteth he wistfiil ; ^ 

Summer comes smiling, lo, ^ 

Rays smite the pile ! 

‘ Burden’d with eld-years, and 
Weary with slow time. 

Slow in his odour-nest ] 

Burneth the bird. 

‘ Up from those ashes, then, 

Springeth a rare fruit ; 

Deep in the rare fruit 
There coileth a worm. 

‘ Weaving bliss-meshes 
Around and around it, 

Silent and blissful, the 
Worm worketh on. 

‘ Lo, from the airy web. 

Blooming and brightsome. 

Young and exulting, the ' 

Phoenix breaks forth. 

‘ Round him the birds troop, ^ 

Singing and hailing ; > 

Wings of all glories , 

Engarland the king. ; 


j 


HAROLD 


283 


‘ Hymning and hailing, 

Through forest and sun-air, 

Hymning and hailing. 

And speaking him “King.” 

‘ High flies the phoenix, 

Escaped from the worm-web ; 

He soars in the sunlight. 

He bathes in the dew. 

‘ He visits his old haunts, 

The holt and the sun-hill ; 

The founts of his youth, and 
The fields of his love. 

‘ The stars in the welkin, 

The blooms on the earth. 

Are glad in his gladness. 

Are young in his youth. 

‘ While round him the birds troop, the 
Hosts of the Himmel, 

Blisses of music, and 
Glories of wings ; 

‘ Hymning and hailing. 

And filling the sun-air 
With music, and glory. 

And praise of the King.’ 

As the lay ceased, Thyra said — 

^Ah, Edith, who would not brave the funeral pyre to 
live again like the phoenix !’ 

^ Sweet sister mine,’ answered Edith, ^the singer doth 
mean to image out in the phoenix the rising of our Lord, in 
whom we all live again.’ 

And Thyra said, mournfully — 

^ But the phoenix sees once more the haunts of his youth 
— the things and places dear to him in his life before. 
Shall we do the same, O Edith ? ’ 

^ It is the persons we love that make beautiful the haunts 
we have known,’ answered the betrothed. ^ Those persons 
at least we shall behold again, and wherever they are — 
there is heaven.’ 

Harold could restrain himself no longer. With one 
bound he was at Edith’s side, and with one wild cry of joy 
he clasped her to his heart. 

H knew that thou wouldst come to-night — I knew it, 
Harold,’ murmured the betrothed. 


284 


HAROLD 


CHAPTER III 

AThilEj full of themselves^ Harold and Edith wandered, 
hand in hand, through the neighbouring glades, while into 
that breast which had forestalled, at least, in this pure and 
sublime union, the wife’s privilege to soothe and console, 
the troubled man poured out the tale of the sole trial from 
which he had passed with defeat and shame — Haco drew 
near to Thyra, and sate down by her side. Each was 
strangely attracted towards the other ; there was something 
congenial in the gloom which they shared in common ; 
though in the girl the sadness was soft and resigned, in 
the youth it was stern and solemn. They conversed in 
whispers, and their talk was strange for companions so 
young; for, whether suggested by Edith’s song, or the 
neighbourhood of the Saxon grave-stone, which gleamed on 
their eyes, grey and wan, through the crommell, the theme 
they selected was of death. As if fascinated, as children 
often are, by the terrors of the Dark King, they dwelt on 
those images with which the northern fancy has associated 
the eternal rest — on the shroud and the worm, and the 
mouldering bones — on the gibbering ghost, and the sor- 
cerer’s spell that could call the spectre from the grave. 
They talked of the pain of the parting soul, parting while 
earth was yet fair, youth fresh, and joy not yet ripened 
from the blossom — of the wistful lingering look which the 
glazing eyes would give to the latest sunlight it should 
behold on earth ; and then pictured the shivering and 
naked soul, forced from the reluctant clay, wandering 
through cheerless space to the intermediate tortures, which 
the Church taught that none were so pure as not for a 
while to undergo ; and, hearing, as it wandered, the knell 
of the muffled bells and the burst of unavailing prayer. At 
length Haco paused abruptly, and said — 

^ But thou, cousin, hast before thee love and sweet life, 
and these discourses are not for thee.’ 

Thyra shook her head mournfully — 

^Not so, Haco; for when Hilda consulted the runes, 
while, last night, she mingled the herbs for my pain, which 
rests ever hot and sharp here,’ and the girl laid her hand 
on her breast, ' 1 saw that her face grew dark and overcast ; 
and I felt, as I looked, that my doom was set. And when 
thou didst come so noiselessly to my side, with thy sad, 
cold eyes, O Haco, methought I saw the Messenger of 
Death. But thou art strong, Haco, and life will be long 
for thee ; let us talk of life.’ 


HAROLD 


285 


Haco stooped down and pressed his lips upon the girl's 
pale forehead. 

^ Kiss me too, Thyra.’ 

The child kissed him^ and they sate silent and close by 
each other while the sun set. 

And as the stars rose, Harold and Edith joined them. 
Harold’s face was serene in the starlight, for the pure soul 
of his betrothed had breathed peace into his own ; and, in 
his willing superstition, he felt as if, now restored to his 
guardian angel, the dead men’s bones had released their 
unhallowed hold. 

But suddenly Edith’s hand trembled in his, and her form 
shuddered. — Her eyes were fixed upon those of Haco. 

‘ Forgive me, young kinsman, that I forget thee so long,’ 
said the Earl. ^ This is my brother’s son, Edith ; thou hast 
not, that I remember, seen him before } ’ 

‘ Yes, yes,’ said Edith, falteringly. 

^ When, and where ? ’ 

Edith’s soul answered the question, ^ Li a dream ’ ; but 
her lips were silent. • 

And Haco, rising, took her by the hand, while the Earl 
turned to his sister — that sister whom he was pledged to 
send to the Norman court ; and I’hyra said, plaintively — 

^Take me in thine arms, Harold, and wrap thy mantle 
round me, for the air is cold.’ 

The Earl lifted the child to his breast, and gazed on her 
cheek long and wistfully ; then questioning her tenderly, 
he took her wdthin the house ; and Edith followed with 
Haco. 

^ Is Hilda within } ’ asked the son of Sweyn. 

^ Nay, she hath been in the forest since noon,’ answered 
Edith with an effort, for she could not recover her aw^e of 
his presence. 

^Then,’ said Haco, halting at the threshold, ‘I will go 
across the woodland to your house, Harold, and prepare 
your ceorls for your coming. ’ 

shall tarry here till Hilda returns,’ answered Harold, 

^ and it may be late in the night ere I reach home ; but 
Sexwulf already hath my orders. At sunrise we return to 
London, and thence we march on the insurgents.’ 

^ All shall be ready. Farewell, noble Edith ; and thou, 
Thyra, my cousin, one kiss more to our meeting again.’ 

The child fondly held out her arms to him, and as she 
kissed his cheek whispered — 

^ In the grave, Haco ! ’ 

The young man drew his mantle around him, and moved 
aw'ay. But he did not mount his steed, which still grazed 


HAROLD 


2SC^ 

by the road ; while Harold’s^ more familiar with the place, 
had found its way to the stall ; nor did he take his path 
through the glades to the house of his kinsman. Entering 
the Druid temple, he stood musing by the Teuton tomb. 

The night grew deep and deeper, the stars more lumi- 
nous, and the air more hushed, when a voice close at his 
side said, clear and abrupt — 

^ What does Youth the restless, by Death the still ? ’ 

It was the peculiarity of Haco, that nothing ever seemed 
to startle or surprise him. In that brooding boyhood, the 
solemn, quiet, and sad experience all forearmed, of age, 
had something in it terrible and preternatural ; so without 
lifting his eyes from the stone, he answered — 

^ How sayest thou, O Hilda, that the dead are still } ’ 

Hilda placed her hand on his shoulder, and stooped to 
look into his face. 

^Thy rebuke is just, son of Sweyn. In Time, and in the 
Universe, there is no stillness ! Tlirough all eternity the 
state impossible to the soul is repose ! — So again thou art 
in thy native land ? ’ 

^ And for what end. Prophetess ? I remember, when but 
an infant, who till then had enjoyed the common air and 
the daily sun, thou didst rob me evermore of childhood and 
youth. For thou didst say to my father, that “dark was 
the woof of my fate, and that its most glorious hour should 
be its last ! ” ’ 

^But thou wert surely too childlike (I see thee now as 
thou wert then, stretched on the grass, and playing with 
thy father’s falcon !) — too childlike to heed my words.’ 

^Does the new ground reject the germs of the sower, or 
the young heart the first lessons of wonder and aw'e ? Since 
then. Prophetess, Night hath been my comrade, and Death 
my familiar. Rememberest thou again the hour when, 
stealing, a boy, from Harold’s house in his absence — the 
night ere I left my land — I stood on this mound by thy 
side } Then did I tell thee that the sole soft thought that 
relieved the bitterness of my soul, when all the rest of my 
kinsfolk seemed to behold in me but the heir of Sweyn, tlie 
outlaw and homicide, was the love that 1 bore to Harold ; 
but that that love itself was mournful and bodeful as the 
hwata of distant sorrow. And thou didst take me, O 
Prophetess, to thy bosom, and thy cold kiss touched my 
lips and my brow ; and there, beside this altar and grave- 
mound, by leaf and by water, by staff" and by song, thou 
didst bid me take comfort ; for that as the mouse gnawed 
the toils of the lion, so the exile obscure should deliver 
from peril the pride and the prince of my House — that 


HAROLD 


287 


from that hour with the skein of his fate should mine be 
entwined ; and his fate was that of kings and of kingdoms. 
And then, when the joy flushed my cheek, and methought 
youth came back in warmth to the night of my soul — then, 
Hilda, I asked thee if my life would be spared till I had 
redeemed the name of my father. Thy seidstafF passed over 
the leaves that, burning with fire-sparks, symbolled the' life 
of the man, and from the third leaf the flame leaped up and 
died ; and again a voice from thy breast, hollow, as if borne 
from a hill-top afar, made answer, ^‘^At thine entrance to 
manhood life bursts into blaze, and shrivels up into ashes.” 
So I knew that the doom of the infant still weighed un- 
annealed on the years of the man ; and I come here to my 
native land as to glory and the grave. But/ said the young 
man, with a wild enthusiasm, still with mine links the fate 
which is loftiest in England ; and the rill and the river 
shall rush in one to the Terrible Sea.’ 

^ I know not that,’ answered Hilda, pale, as if in awe of 
herself ; ^ for never yet hath the rune, or the fount, or the 
tomb, revealed to me clear and distinct the close of the 
great course of Harold ; only know I through his own stars 
his glory and greatness ; and where glory is dim, and 
greatness is menaced, I know it but from the stars of 
others, the rays of whose influence blend with his own. 
So long, at least, as the fair and the pure one keeps watch 
in the still House of Life, the dark and the troubled one 
cannot wholly prevail. For Edith is given to Harold as 

the Fylgia, that noiselessly blesses and saves : and thou ’ 

Hilda checked herself, and lowered her hood over her face, 
so that it suddenly became invisible. 

^And I.^’ asked Haco, moving near to her side. 

^ Away, son of Sweyn ; thy feet trample the grave of the 
mighty dead ! ’ 

Tlien Hilda lingered no longer, but took her way 
towards the house. Haco’s eye followed her in silence. 
The cattle, grazing in the great space of the crumbling 
peristyle, looked up as she passed ; the watch-dogs, wander- 
ing through the star-lit columns, come snorting round their 
mistress. And when she had vanished within the house, 
Haco turned to his steed — 

MFliat matters,’ he murmured, ^the answer which the 
Vala cannot or dare not give ? To me is not destined the 
love of woman, nor the ambition of life. All I know of 
human affection binds me to Harold ; all I know of human 
ambition is to share in his fate. This love is strong as 
hate, and terrible as doom— it is jealous, it admits no rival. 
As the shell and the sea-weed interlaced together, we are 
dashed on the rushing surge ; whither ? oh, w hither ? ’ 


288 


HAROLD 


CHAPTER IV 

‘I TELL thee, Hilda,’ said the Earl, impatiently, tell 
thee that I renounce henceforth all faith save in Him 
whose ways are concealed from our eyes. Thy seid and 
thy galdra have not guarded me against peril, nor armed 
me against sin. Nay, perchance — but peace : I will no 
more tempt the dark art, I will no more seek to dis- 
entangle the awful truth from the juggling lie. All so 
foretold me I will seek to forget, hope from no prophecy, 
fear from no warning. Let the soul go to the future under 
the shadow of God ! ’ 

^Pass on thy way as thou wilt, its goal is the same, 
whether seen or unmarked. Peradventure thou art wise,’ 
said the Vala, gloomily. 

^For my country’s sake, heaven be my witness, not my 
own,’ resumed the Earl, ‘I have blotted my conscience 
and sullied my truth. My country alone can redeem me, 
by taking my life as a thing hallowed evermore to her 
service. Selfish ambition do I lay aside, selfish power 
shall tempt me no more ; lost is the charm that I beheld 
in a throne, and, save for Edith ’ 

^No ! not even for Edith,’ cried the betrothed, advancing, 
^not even for Edith shalt thou listen to other voice than 
that of thy country and thy soul.’ 

The Earl turned round abruptly, and his eyes were moist. 

^ O Hilda,’ he cried, ^ see henceforth my only Vala ; let 
that noble heart alone interpret to us the oracles of the 
future.’ 

The next day Harold returned with Haco and a numerous 
train of his house-carles to the city. Tlieir ride was as silent 
as that of the day before ; but on reaching Southwark, 
Harold turned away from the bridge towards the left, gained 
the river-side, and dismounted at the house of one of his 
lithsmen (a frankling, or freed ceorl). Leaving there his 
horse, he summoned a boat, and, with Haco, was rowed over 
towards the fortified palace which then rose towards the 
west of London, jutting into the Thames, and which seems 
to have formed the outwork of the old Roman city. The 
palace, of remotest antiquity, and blending all work and 
architecture, Roman, Saxon, and Danish, had been repaired 
by Canute ; and from a high window in the upper story, 
where were the royal apartments, the body of the traitor 
Edric Streone (the founder of the house of Godwin) had been 
thrown into the river. 

^ Whither go we, Harold asked the son of Sweyn. 


HAROLD 


289 


^ We go to visit the young Atheling, the natural heir to 
the Saxon throne,’ replied Harold in a firm voice. 'He 
lodges in the old palace of our kings.’ 

'They say in Normandy that the boy is imbecile.’ 

' ’fhat is not true,’ returned Harold. ' I will present thee 
to him — ^judge.’ 

Haco mused a moment and said — 

' Methinks I divine thy purpose ; is it not formed on the 
sudden, Harold.^’ 

' It was the counsel of Edith,’ answered Harold, with 
evident emotion. 'And yet, if that counsel prevail, I may 
lose the power to soften the Church and to call her mine.’ 

'So thou wouldest sacrifice even Edith for thy country.’ 

' Since I have sinned, methinks I could,’ said the proud 
man humbly. 

Tlie boat shot into a little creek, or rather canal, which 
then ran inland, beside the black and rotting walls of the 
fort. The two Earl-born leapt ashore, passed under a 
Roman arch, entered a court the interior of which was 
rudely filled up by early Saxon habitations of rough timber 
work, already, since the time of Canute, falling into decay 
(as all things did which came under the care of Edward), 
and mounting a stair that ran along the outside of the house, 
gained a low narrow door, which stood open. In the passage 
within were one or two of the King’s house-carles who had 
been assigned to the young Atheling, with liveries of blue 
and Danish axes, and some four or five German servitors, 
who had attended his father from the Emperor’s court. One 
of these last ushered the noble Saxons into a low, forlorn 
ante-hall ; and there, to Harold’s surprise, he found Aired 
the Archbishop of York, and three thegns of high rank, and 
of lineage ancient and purely Saxon. 

Aired approached Harold with a faint smile on his benign 
face — 

' Methinks, and may I think aright ! — thou comest hither 
with the same purpose as myself, and yon noble thegns.’ 

' And that purpose ? ’ 

' Is to see and to judge calmly if, despite his years, we may 
find in the descendant of the Ironsides such a prince as we 
may commend to our decaying King as his heir, and to the 
Witan as a chief fit to defend the land.’ 

' Thou speakest the cause of my own coming. With your 
ears will I hear, with your eyes will I see ; as ye judge, will 
judge I,’ said Harold, drawing the prelate towards the 
thegns, so that they might hear his answer. 

The chiefs, who belonged to a party that had often opposed 
Godwin’s House, had exchanged looks of fear and trouble 


T 


200 


HAROLD 


when Harold entered; hut at his M'ords their frank faces 
showed equal surprise and pleasure. 

Harold presented to them his nephew, with whose grave 
dignity of bearing beyond his years they were favourably 
impressed, though the good bishop sighed when he saw in 
his face the sombre beauty of the guilty sire. The group 
then conversed anxiously on the declining health of the 
King, the disturbed state of the realm, and the expediency, 
if possible, of uniting all suffrages in favour of the fittest 
successor. And in Harold’s voice and manner, as in 
Harold’s heart, there was nought that seemed conscious 
of his own mighty stake and just hopes in that election. 
But as time wore, the faces of the thegns grew overcast ; 
proud men and great satraps were they, and they liked it 
ill that the boy-prince kept them so long in the dismal 
ante-room. 

At length the German officer, who had gone to announce 
their coming, returned ; and in words, intelligible indeed 
from the affinity between Saxon and German, but still 
disagreeably foreign to English ears, requested them to 
follow him into the presence of the Atheling. 

In a room yet retaining the rude splendour with which it 
had been invested by Canute, a handsome boy, about the 
age of thirteen or fourteen, but seeming much younger, 
was engaged in the construction of a stuffed bird, a lure for 
a young hawk that stood blindfold on its perch. The em- 
ployment made so habitual a part of the serious education of 
youth, that the thegns smoothed their brows at the sight, and 
deemed the boy worthily occupied. At another end of the 
room, a grave Norman priest was seated at a table on which 
were books and writing implements ; he was the tutor com- 
missioned by Edward to teach Norman tongue and saintly 
lore to the Atheling. A profusion of toys streM^ed the floor, 
and some children of Edgar’s own age were playing with 
them. His little sister Margaret was seated seriously, apart 
from all the other children, and employed in needlework. 

When Aired approached the Atheling, with a blending of 
reverent obeisance and paternal cordiality, the boy carelessly 
cried, in a barbarous jargon, half German, half Norman- 
French — 

^ There, come not too near, you scare my hawk. What 
are you doing? You trample my toys, which the good 
Norman bishop William sent me as a gift from the Duke. 
Art thou blind, man ? ’ 

^My son,’ said the prelate kindly, ^ these are the things of 
childhood — childhood ends sooner with princes than with 
common men. Leave thy lure and thy toys, and welcome 


HAROLD 


291 


these noble thegns, and address them, so please you, in our 
own Saxon tongue.’ 

‘ Saxon tongue ! — language of villeins ! not I. Little do I 
know of it, save to scold a ceorl or a nurse. King Edward 
did not tell me to learn Saxon, but Norman ! and Godfroi 
yonder says, that if I know Norman well, Duke William 
will make me his knight. But I don’t desire to learn any- 
thing more to-day.’ And the child turned peevishly from 
thegn and prelate. 

The three Saxon lords interchanged looks of profound 
displeasure and proud disgust. But Harold, with an effort 
over himself, approached, and said winningly — 

^ Edgar the Atheling, thou art not so young but thou 
knowest already that the great live for others. Wilt thou 
not be proud to live for this fair country, and these noble 
men, and to speak the language of Alfred the Great } ’ 

^ Alfred the Great ! they always weary me with Alfred the 
Great,’ said the boy, pouting. ^ Alfred the Great, he is the 
plague of my life ! if I am Atheling, men are to live for me, 
not I for them ; and if you tease me any more, I will run 
away to Duke William in Rouen ; Godfroi says I shall never 
be teased there ! ’ 

So saying, already tired of hawk and lure, the child threw 
himself on the floor with the other children, and snatched 
the toys from their hands. 

Tlie serious Margaret then rose quietly, and went to her 
brother, and said, in good Saxon — 

^ Fie ! if you behave thus, I shall call you niddering ! ’ 

At the threat of that word, the vilest in the language — 
that word which the lowest ceorl would forfeit life rather 
than endure— a threat applied to the Atheling of England, 
the descendant of Saxon heroes — the three thegns drew 
close, and watched the boy, hoping to see that he would 
start to his feet with wrath and in shame. 

^ Call me what you will, silly sister,’ said the child, in- 
differently, ‘ I am not so Saxon as to care for your ceorlish 
Saxon names.’ 

^Enow,’ cried the proudest and greatest of the thegns, 
his very moustache curling with ire. ^ He who can be called 
niddering shall never be crowned king ! ’ 

^ I don’t want to be crowned king, rude man, with your 
laidly moustache : I want to be made knight, and have a 
banderol and baldric.— Go away !’ 

^ We go, son,’ said Aired, mournfully. 

And with slow and tottering step he moved to the door ; 
there he halted, turned back— and the child was pointing 
at him in mimicry, while Godfroi, the NormanAutor, smiled 


292 


HAROLD 


as in pleasure. Tlie prelate shook his head, and the group 
gained again the ante-hall. 

^ Fit leader of bearded men ! fit king for the Saxon land ! ’ 
cried a thegn. ^No more of your Atheling, Aired my 
father ! ’ 

' No more of him, indeed ! ’ said the prelate, mournfully. 

^It is but the fault of his nurture and rearing — a ne- 
glected childhood, a Norman tutor, German hirelings. We 
may remould yet the pliant clay,' said Harold. 

^Nay,’ returned Aired, ‘^no leisure for such hopes, no 
time to undo what is done by circumstance, and, I fear, by 
nature. Ere the year is out the throne will stand empty in 
our halls.’ 

^Who then,’ said Haco, abruptly, ^who then — (pardon 
the ignorance of youth wasted in captivity abroad !) — who 
then, failing the Atheling, will save this realm from the 
Norman Duke, who, I know well, counts on it as the reaper 
on the harvest ripening to his sickle ? ’ 

^Alas, who then?’ murmured Aired. 

^ Who then ? ’ cried the three thegns, with one voice, ^ why 
the worthiest, the wisest, the bravest ! Stand forth, Harold 
the Earl, Thou art the man ! ’ And without awaiting his 
answer, they strode from the hall. 


CHAPTER V 

Around Northampton lay the forces of Morcar, the choice 
of the Anglo-Dane men of Northumbria. Suddenly there 
was a shout as to arms from the encampment ; and Morcar, 
the young Earl, clad in his link mail, save his helmet, came 
forth, and cried — 

^ My men are fools to look that way for a foe ; yonder 
lies Mercia, behind it the hills of W ales. The troops that 
come hitherward are those which Edwin my brother brings 
to our aid.’ 

Morcar’s words were carried into the host by his captains 
and warbodes, and the shout changed from alarm into joy. 
As the cloud of dust through which gleamed the spears of 
the coming force rolled away, and lay lagging behind the 
march of the host, there rode forth from the van two riders. 
Fast and far from the rest they rode, and behind them, fast 
as they could, spurred two others, who bore on high, one 
the pennon of Mercia, one the red lion of North Wales. 
Right to the embankment and palisade which begirt Morcar’s 


HAROLD 


293 


camp rode the riders ; and the head of the foremost was 
bare, and the guards knew the face of Edwin the Comely, 
Morcar’s brother. Morcar stepped down from the mound 
on which he stood, and the brothers embraced amidst the 
halloos of the forces. 

^ And welcome, I pray thee,’ said Morcar, ‘ our kinsman 
Caradoc, son of Gryffyth the bold.’ 

So Morcar reached his hand to Caradoc, stepson to his 
sister Aldyth, and kissed him on the brow, as was the wont 
of our fathers. The young and crownless prince was scarce 
out of boyhood, but already his name was sung by the bards, 
and circled in the halls of Gwynedd with the Hildas honi ; 
for he had harried the Saxon borders, and given to fire and 
sword even the fortress of Harold himself. 

But while these three interchanged saluations, and ere 
yet the mixed Mercians and Welch had gained the encamp- 
ment, from a curve in the opposite road, towards Towcester 
and Dunstable, broke the flash of mail like a river of light, 
trumpets and fifes were heard in the distance ; and all in 
Morcar’s host stood hushed but stern, gazing anxious and 
afar, as the coming armament swept on. And from the 
midst were seen the Martlets and Cross of England’s king, 
and the Tiger heads of Harold ; banners which, seen to- 
gether, had planted victory on every tower, on every field, 
towards which they had rushed on the winds. 

Retiring, then, to the central mound, the chiefs of the 
insurgent force held their brief council. 

The two young Earls, whatever their ancestral renown, 
being yet new themselves to fame and to power, were sub- 
missive to the Anglo-Dane chiefs, by whom Morcar had been 
elected. And these, on recognising the standard of Harold, 
were unanimous in advice to send a peaceful deputation, 
setting forth their wrongs under Tostig, and the justice of 
their cause. ^For the Earl,’ said Gamel Beorn (the head 
and front of that revolution), ^is a just man, and one who 
would shed his own blood rather than that of any other free- 
born dweller in England ; and he will do us right.’ 

‘ AFhat, against his own brother } ’ cried Edwin. 

‘ Against his own brother, if we convince but his reason,’ 
returned the Anglo-Dane. 

And the other chiefs nodded assent. Caradoc’s fierce 
eyes flashed fire ; but he played with his torque, and spoke 
not. 

Meanwhile, the vanguard of the King’s forces had defiled 
under the very walls of Northampton, between the town 
and the insurgents ; and some of the light-armed scouts who 
w ent forth from Morcar’s camp to gaze on the procession, 


294 


HAROLD 


with that singular fearlessness which characterised, at that 
period, the rival parties in civil war, returned to say that 
they had seen Harold himself in the foremost line, and that 
he was not in mail. 

This circumstance the insurgent thegns received as a good 
omen ; and having already agreed on the deputation, about 
a score of the principal thegns of the north went sedately 
towards the hostile lines. 

By the side of Harold — armed in mail, with his face con- 
cealed by the strange Sicilian nose-piece used then by most 
of the Northern nations — had ridden Tostig, who had joined 
the Earl on his march, with a scanty band of some fifty or 
sixty of his Danish house-carles. All the men throughout 
broad England that he could command or bribe to his cause, 
were those fifty or sixty hireling Danes. And it seemed 
that already there was dispute between the brothers, for 
Harold’s face was flushed, and his voice stern, as he said, 
^Rate me as thou wilt, brother, but I cannot advance at 
once to the destruction of my fellow-Englishmen without 
summons and attempt at treaty — as has ever been the 
custom of our ancient heroes and our own House.’ 

^ By all the fiends of the North ! ’ exclaimed Tostig, ^ it 
is foul shame to talk of treaty and summons to robbers and 
rebels. For what art thou here but for chastisement and 
revenge ? ’ 

‘ For justice and right, Tostig.’ 

^ Ha ! thou comest not, then, to aid thy brother ? ’ 

^ Yes, if justice and right are, as I trust, with him.’ 

Before Tostig could reply, a line was suddenly cleared 
through the armed men, and, with bare heads, and a monk 
lifting the rood on high, amidst the procession advanced 
the Northumbrian Danes. 

^ By the red sword of St. Olave ! ’ cried Tostig, ^ yonder 
come the traitors, Gamel Beorn and Gloneion ! You will 
hot hear them ? If so, I will not stay to listen. I have but 
my axe for my answer to such knaves.’ 

^Brother, brother, those men are the most valiant and 
famous chiefs in thine earldom. Go, Tostig, thou art not 
now in the mood to hear reason. Retire into the city ; 
summon its gates to open to the King’s flag. I will hear 
the men.’ 

Beware how thou judge, save in thy brother’s favour !’ 
growled the fierce warrior ; and, tossing his arm on high 
with a contemptuous gesture, he spurred away towards the 
gates. 

Then Harold, dismounting, stood on the ground, under 
the standard of his King, and round him came several of 


HAROLD 295 

the Saxon chiefs, who had kept aloof during the conference 
with Tostig. 

The Northumbrians approached, and saluted the Earl with 
grave courtesy. 

Then Gamel Beorn began. But much as Harold had 
feared and foreboded as to the causes of complaint which 
Tostig had given to the Northumbrians, all fear, all fore- 
boding, fell short of the horrors now deliberately unfolded ; 
not only extortion of tribute the most rapacious and illegal, 
but murder the fiercest and most foul. Thegns of high 
birth, without offence or suspicion, but who had either 
excited Tostig’s jealousy, or resisted his exactions, had 
been snared under peaceful pretexts into his castle, and 
butchered in cold blood by his house-carles. The cruelties 
of the old heathen Danes seemed revived in the bloody and 
barbarous tale. 

^And now,’ said the thegn, in conclusion, ^canst thou 
condemn us that we rose ? — no partial rising ; — rose all 
Northumbria ! At first but two hundred thegns ; strong 
in our cause, we swelled into the might of a people. Our 
wrongs found sympathy beyond our province, for liberty 
spreads over human hearts as fire over a heath. Wherever 
we march, friends gather round us. Thou warrest not on 
a handful of rebels — half England is with us ! ’ 

^And ye — thegns,’ answered Harold, ^ye have ceased to 
w'ar against Tostig, your Earl. Ye war now against the 
King and the Law. Come with your complaints to your 
Prince and your Witan, and, if they are just, ye are stronger 
than in yonder palisades and streets of steel.’ 

^And so,’ said Gamel Beorn, with marked emphasis, 
^ now thou art in England, O noble Earl — so are we willing 
to come. But when thou wert absent from the land, justice 
seemed to abandon it to force and the battle-axe.’ 

would thank you for your trust,’ answered Harold, 
deeply moved. 'But justice in England rests not on the 
presence and life of a single man. And your speech I must 
not accept as a grace, for it wrongs both my King and his 
Council. These charges ye have made, but ye have not 
proved them. Armed men are not proofs ; and granting 
that hot blood and mortal infirmity of judgment have caused 
Tostig to err against you and the right, think still of his 
qualities to reign over men whose lands, and whose rivers, 
lie ever exposed to the dread Northern sea-kings. Where 
will ye find a chief with arm as strong, and heart as daunt- 
less ? By his mother’s side he is allied to your own lineage. 
And for the rest, if ye receive him back to his earldom, not 
only do I, Harold, in whom you profess to trust, pledge full 


296 


HAROLD 


oblivion of the past^ but I will undertake,, in his iiame^ that 
he shall rule you well for the future, according to tho laws 
of King Canute. ’ 

‘^That will we not hear/ cried the thegris, with one voice ; 
while the tones of Gamel Beorn, rough with the rattling 
Danish burr, rose above all, ^for we were born free. A 
proud and bad chief is by us not to be endured ; we have 
learned from our ancestors to live free or die ! ’ 

A murmur, not of condemnation, at these words, was 
heard amongst the Saxon chiefs round Harold : and beloved 
and revered as he was, he felt that, had he the heart, he had 
scarce the power, to have coerced those warriors to march 
at once on their countrymen in such a cause. But fore- 
seeing great evil in the surrender of his brother’s interests, 
whether by lowering the King’s dignity to the demands of 
armed force, or sending abroad in all his fierce passions a 
man so highly connected with Norman and Dane, so vin- 
dictive and so grasping, as Tostig, the Earl shunned further 
parley at that time and place. He appointed a meeting in 
the town with the chiefs ; and requested them, meanwhile, 
to reconsider their demands, and at least shape them so as 
that they could be transmitted to the King, who was then 
on his way to Oxford. 

. It is in vain to describe the rage of Tostig, when his 
brother gravely repeated to him the accusations against him, 
and asked for his justification. Justification he could give 
not. His idea of law was but force, and by force alone he 
demanded now to be defended. Harold, then, wishing not 
alone to be judge in his brother’s cause, referred further 
discussion to the chiefs of the various towns and shires, 
whose troops had swelled the War-Fyrd ; and to them he 
bade Tostig plead his cause. 

Vain as a woman, wdiile fierce as a tiger, Tostig assented, 
and in that assembly he rose, his gonna all blazing witli 
crimson and gold, his hair all curled and perfumed as for 
a banquet ; and such, in a half-barbarous day, the effect of 
person, especially when backed by warlike renown, that 
the Proceres were half-disposed to forget, in admiration of 
the earl’s surpassing beauty of form, the dark tales of his 
hideous guilt. But his passions hurrying him away ere 
he had gained the middle of his discourse, so did his own 
relation condemn himself, so clear became his own tyran- 
nous misdeeds, that the Englishmen murmured aloud their 
disgust, and their impatience would not suffer him to close. 

^Enough,’ cried Vebba, the blunt thegn from Saxon 
Kent ; ^ it is plain that neither King nor Witan can replace 
thee in thine earldom. Tell us not further of tliese atro- 


HA 110 LI) 


297 

cities ; or, by 're Lady, if the Northumbrians had chased 
thee not, we would.’ 

^Take treasure and ship, and go to Baldwin in Flanders,’ 
said Thorold, a great Anglo-Dane from Lincolnshire, ^for 
even Harold’s name can scarce save thee from outlawry.’ 

Tostig glared round on the assembly, and met but one 
common expression in the face of all. 

^ These are thy henchmen, Harold ! ’ he said through his 
gnashing teeth ; and, without vouchsafing further word, 
strode from the council-hall. 

That evening he left the town and hurried to tell to 
Edward the tale that had so miscarried with the chiefs. 
ITie next day, the Northumbrian delegates were heard ; and 
they made the customary proposition in those cases of civil 
difl’erences, to refer all matters to the King and Witan ; 
each party remaining under arms meanwhile. 

Tliis was finally acceded to. Harold repaired to Oxford, 
where the King (persuaded to the journey by Aired, fore- 
seeing what would come to pass) had just arrived. 


CHAPTER VI 

The I Vital! was summoned in haste. Thither came the 
young earls Morcar and Edwin, but Caradoc, chafing at the 
thought of peace, retired into Wales with his wild band. 

Now, all the great chiefs, spiritual and temporal, assembled 
in Oxford for the decree of that Witan on which depended 
the peace of England. The imminence of the time made 
the concourse of members entitled to vote in the assembly 
even larger than that which had met for the inlawry of 
Godwin. Tliere was but one thought uppermost in the 
minds of men, to which the adjustment of an earldom, 
however mighty, was comparatively insignificant — viz., the 
succession of the kingdom. That thought turned instinc- 
tively and irresistibly to Harold. 

The evident and rapid decay of the King ; the utter 
failure of all male heir in the House of Cerdic, save only 
the boy Edgar ; whose character (which throughout life 
remained puerile and frivolous) made the minority which 
excluded him from the throne seem cause rather for rejoicing 
than grief: and whose rights, even by birth, were not 
acknowledged by the general tenor of the Saxon laws, 
which did not recognise as heir to the crown the son of a 
father who had not himself been crowned ; — forebodings of 


298 


HAROLD 


coming evil and danger, originating in Edward's perturbed 
visions ; revivals of obscure and till then forgotten pro- 
phecies, ancient as the days of Merlin ; rumours, industri- 
ously fomented into certainty by Haco, whose whole soul 
seemed devoted to Harold's cause, of the intended claim of 
the Norman Count to the throne ; — all concurred to make 
the election of a man matured in camp and council, doubly 
necessary to the safety of the realm. 

W arm favourers, naturally, of Harold, were the genuine 
Saxon population, and a large part of the Anglo-Danish — 
all the thegns in his vast Earldom of Wessex, reaching to 
the southern and western coasts, from Sandwich and the 
mouth of the Thames to the Land’s End in Cornwall ; and 
including the free men of Kent, w^hose inhabitants even 
from the days of Caesar had been considered in advance of 
the rest of the British population, and from the days of 
Hengist had exercised an influence that nothing save the 
warlike might of the Anglo-Danes counterbalanced. With 
Harold, too, were many of the thegns from his earlier earl- 
dom of East Anglia, comprising the county of Essex, great 
part of Hertfordshire, and so reaching into Cambridge, 
Huntingdon, Norfolk, and Ely. With him, were all the 
wealth, intelligence, and power of London, and most of the 
trading towns ; with him all the veterans of the armies he 
had led ; with him, too, generally throughout the empire, 
was the force, less distinctly demarked, of public and national 
feeling. 

Even the priests, save those immediately about the court, 
forgot in the exigency of the time, their ancient and deep- 
rooted dislike to Godwin’s House ; they remembered, at 
least, that Harold had never, in foray or feud, plundered a 
single convent ; or in peace, and through plot, appropriated 
to himself a single hyde of Church land ; and that was more 
than could have been said of any other earl of the age — 
even of Leofric the Holy. They caught, as a church must 
do, when so intimately, even in its illiterate errors, allied 
with the people as the old Saxon Church was, the popular 
enthusiasm. Abbot combined with thegn in zeal for Earl 
Harold. 

The only party that stood aloof was the one that espoused 
the claims of the young sons of Algar. But this party was 
indeed most formidable ; it united all the old friends of the 
virtuous Leofric, of the famous Siward ; it had a numerous 
party even in East Anglia (in which earldom Algar had 
succeeded Harold) ; it comprised nearly all the thegns in 
Mercia (the heart of the country) and the population of 
Northumbria ; and it involved in its wide range the terrible 


HAROLD 


290 


^V'elch, on the one hand, and the Scottish domain of the 
sub-king Malcolm, himself a Cumbrian, on the other, despite 
Malcolm’s personal predilections for Tostig, to whom he was 
strongly attached. But then the chiefs of this party, while 
at present they stood aloof, were all, with the exception 
perhaps of the young earls themselves, disposed, on the 
slightest encouragement, to blend their suiOFrage with the 
friends of Harold ; and his praise was as loud on their lips 
as on those of the Saxons from Kent, or the burghers from 
London. All factions, in short, were willing, in this mo- 
mentous crisis, to lay aside old dissensions ; it depended 
upon the conciliation of the Northumbrians, upon a fusion 
between the friends of Harold and the supporters of the 
young sons of Algar, to form such a concurrence of 
interests as must inevitably bear Harold to the throne of 
the empire. 

Meanwhile, the Earl himself wisely and patriotically- 
deemed it right to remain neuter in the approaching deci- 
sion between Tostig and the young earls. He could not be 
so unjust and so mad as to urge to the utmost (and risk in 
the urging) his party influence on the side of oppression and 
injustice, solely for the sake of his brother ; nor, on the 
other, was it decorous or natural to take part himself against 
Tostig ; nor could he, as a statesman, contemplate without 
anxiety and alarm the transfer of so large a portion of the 
realm to the vice-kingship of the sons of his old foe — rivals 
to his power, at the very time w^hen, even for the sake of 
England alone, that power should be the most solid and 
compact. 

But the final greatness of a fortunate man is rarely made 
by any violent effort of his own. He has sown the seeds in 
the time foregone, and the ripe time brings up the harvest. 
His fate seems taken out of his own control ; greatness 
seems thrust upon him. He has made himself, as it were, 
a want to the nation, a thing necessary to it ; he has identi- 
fied himself with his age, and in the wreath or the crowm on 
his brow, the age itself seems to put forth its flow^er. 

Tostig, lodging apart from Harold in a fort near the gate 
of Oxford, took slight pains to conciliate foes or make 
friends ; trusting rather to his representations to Edward 
(who was wroth with the rebellious House of Algar) of the 
danger of compromising the royal dignity by concessions 
to armed insurgents. 

It was but three days before that for which the Witan was 
summoned ; most of its members had already assembled in 
the city ; and Harold, from the window of the monastery in 
which he lodged, was gazing thoughtfully into the streets 


300 


HAROLD 


below, where, with the gay dresses of the thegns and ciiehts, 
blended the grave robes of ecclesiastic and youthful scholar 
— for to that illustrious university (pillaged and persecuted 
by the sons of Canute) Edward had, to his honour, restored 
the schools — when Haco entered, and announced to him 
that a numerous body of thegns and prelates, headed by 
Aired Archbishop of York, craved an audience. 

' Knowest thou the cause, Haco ? ’ 

The youth’s cheek was yet more pale than usual, as he 
answered slowly — 

^Hilda’s prophecies are ripening into truths.’ 

The Earl started, and his old ambition reviving, flushed 
on his brow, and sparkled from his eye — he checked 
the joyous emotion, and bade Haco briefly admit the 
visitors. 

They came in, two by two, — a body so numerous that 
they filled the ample chamber ; and Harold, as he greeted 
each, beheld the most powerful lords of the laud — the 
highest dignitaries of the Church — and, oft and frequent, 
came old foe by the side of trusty friend. They all paused 
at the foot of the narrow dais on which Harold stood, and 
Aired repelled by a gesture his invitation to the foremost 
to mount the platform. 

Then Aired began an harangue, simple and earnest. He 
described briefly the condition of the country ; touched 
with grief and with feeling on the health of the king, and 
the failure of Cerdic’s line. He stated honestly his own 
strong wish, if possible, to have concentrated the popular 
suffrages on the young Atheling ; and under the emergence 
of the case, to have w^aived the objection to his immature 
years. But as distinctly and emphatically he stated, that 
that hope and intent he had now formally abandoned, and 
that there was but one sentiment on the subject with all the 
chiefs and dignitaries of the realm. 

^ Wherefore,’ continued he, ^ after anxious consultations 
with each other, those whom you see around have come to 
you : yea, to you, Earl Harold, we offer our hands and 
hearts to do our best to prepare for you the throne on the 
demise of Edward, and to seat you thereon as firmly as ever 
sate King of England and son of Cerdic ; — knowing that in 
you, and in you alone, we find the man who reigns already 
in the English heart ; to whose strong arm we can trust 
the defence of our land ; to whose just thoughts, our laws. 
— As I speak, so think we all ! ’ 

With downcast eyes Harold heard ; and but by a sliglit 
heaving of his breast under his crimson robe, could his 
emotion be seen. But as soon as the approving murmur. 


HAROLD 301 

that succeeded the prelate’s speech, had closed, he lifted his 
head, and answered — 

^ Holy father, and you. Right Worthy my fellow-thegns, 
if ye could read my heart at this moment, believe that you 
would not find there the vain joy of aspiring man, when the 
greatest of earthly prizes is placed within his reach. There, 
you would see, with deep and wordless gratitude for your 
trust and your love, grave and solemn solicitude, earnest 
desire to divest my decision of all mean thought of self, and 
judge only whether indeed, as king or as subject, I can best 
guard the weal of England. Pardon me, then, if I answer 
you not as ambition alone would answ^er ; neither deem me 
insensible to the glorious lot of presiding, under heaven, 
and by the light of our laws, over the destinies of the 
English realm, — if I pause to weigh w ell the responsibilities 
incurred, and the obstacles to be surmounted. There is 
that on my mind that I would fain unbosom, not of a nature 
to discuss in an assembly so numerous, but which I would 
rather submit to a chosen few whom you yourselves may 
select to hear me, in whose cool wisdom, apart from personal 
love to me, ye may best confide ; — your most veteran thegns, 
your most honoured prelates : To them will I speak, to them 
make clean my bosom ; and to their answer, their counsels, 
w ill I in all things defer : whether with loyal heart to serve 
another, w^hom, hearing me, they may decide to choose ; or 
to fit my soul to bear, not unworthily, the weight of a kingly 
crowm.’ 

Aired lifted his mild eyes to Harold, and there were both 
pity and approval in his gaze, for he divined the Earl. 

^ Thou hast chosen the right course, my son ; and w^e 
will retire at once, and elect those with whom thou mayst 
freely confer, and by whose judgment thou mayst righteously 
abide.’ 

The prelate turned, and with him went the conclave. 

Left alone with Haco, the last said, abruptly — 

‘ Thou wdlt not be so indiscreet, O Harold, as to confess 
thy compelled oath to the fraudful Norman ? ’ 

^ That is my design,’ replied Harold, coldly. 

The son of Sweyn began to remonstrate, but the Earl cut 
him short. 

^ If the Norman say that he has been deceived in Harold, 
never so shall say the men of England. Leave me. I know 
not why, Haco, but in thy presence, at times, there is a 
glamour as strong as in the spells of Hilda. Go, dear boy ; 
the fault is not in thee but in the superstitious infirmities of 
a man who hath once lowered, or, it may he, too highly 
strained, his reason to the things of a haggard fancy. Go ! 


302 


HAROLD 


and send to me my brother Gurth. I would have him alone 
of my House present at this solemn crisis of its fate.’ 

Haco bowed his head, and went. 

In a few moments more, Gurth came in. To this pure 
and spotless spirit Harold had already related the events of 
his unhappy visit to the Norman ; and he felt, as the young 
chief pressed his hand, and looked on him with his clear 
and loving eyes, as if Honour made palpable stood by his 
side. 

Six of the ecclesiastics, most eminent for Church learn- 
ing, — small as was that which they could boast, compared 
with the scholars of Normandy and the Papal States, but 
at least more intelligent and more free from mere formal 
monasticism than most of their Saxon contemporaries — 
and six of the chiefs most renowned for experience in war 
or council, selected under the sagacious promptings of 
Aired, accompanied that prelate to the presence of the Earl. 

^ Close, thou ! close ! close ! Gurth,’ whispered Harold : 

‘ for this is a confession against man’s pride, and sorely doth 
it shame ; — so that I would have thy bold sinless heart 
beating near to mine.’ 

Then, leaning his arm upon his brother’s shoulder, and in 
a voice, the first tones of which, as betraying earnest emotion, 
irresistibly chained and aifected his noble audience, Harold 
began his tale. 

Various were the emotions, though all more akin to terror 
than repugnance, with which the listeners heard the Earl’s 
plain and candid recital. 

Among the lay-chiefs the impression made by the com- 
pelled oath M^as comparatively slight : for it was the worst 
vice of the Saxon laws, to entangle all charges, from the 
smallest to the greatest, in a reckless multiplicity of oaths, 
to the grievous loosening of the bonds of truth : and oaths 
then had become almost as much mere matter of legal form, 
as certain oaths — bad relic of those times ! — still existing in 
our parliamentary and collegiate proceedings, are deemed by 
men, not otherwise dishonourable, even now. And to no 
kind of oath was more latitude given than to such as related 
to fealty to a chief : for these, in the constant rebellions which 
happened year after year, were openly violated, and without 
reproach. Not a sub-king in Wales who harried the border, 
not an Earl who raised banner against the Basileus of Britain, 
but infringed his oath to be good man and true to the lord 
paramount ; and even William the Norman himself never 
found his oath of fealty stand in his way, whenever he 
deemed it right and expedient to take arms against his 
suzerain of France. 


HAROLD 


303 


On the churchmen the impression was stronger and more 
serious : not that made by the oath itself, but by the relics 
on which the hand had been laid. They looked at each 
other, doubtful and appalled, when the Earl ceased his tale ; 
while only among the laymen circled a murmur of mingled 
wrath at VV^illiam’s bold design on their native land, and of 
scorn at the thought that an oath, surprised and compelled, 
should be made the instrument of treason to a whole people. 

^ Thus,’ said Harold, after a pause, ^ thus have I made clear 
to you my conscience, and revealed to you the only obstacle 
between your offers and my choice. From the keeping of 
an oath so extorted, and so deadly to England, this venerable 
prelate and mine own soul have freed me. Whether as king 
or as subject, I shall alike revere the living and their 
long posterity more than the dead men’s bones, and, with 
sword and with battle-axe, hew out against the invader my 
best atonement for the lip’s weakness and the heart’s 
desertion. But whether, knowing what hath passed, ye may 
not deem it safer for the land to elect another king, — this it 
is which, free and fore-thoughtful of every chance, ye should 
now decide.’ 

With these words he stepped from the dais, and retired 
into the oratory that adjoined the chamber, followed by 
Gui-th. The eyes of the priests then turned to Aired, and 
to them the prelate spoke as he had done before to Harold ; 
— he distinguished between the oath and its fulfilment-^ 
between the lesser sin and the greater — the one which the 
Church could absolve — the one which no Church had the 
right to exact, and which, if fulfilled, no penance could 
expiate. He owned frankly, nevertheless, that it was the 
difficulties so created, that had made him incline to the 
Atheling ; but, convinced of that prince’s incapacity, even 
in the most ordinary times, to rule England, he shrank yet 
more from such a choice, v hen the swords of the Norman 
were already sharpening for contest. Finally he said, ^ If a 
man as fit to defend us as Harold can be found, let us prefer 
him : if not ’ 

^ There is no other man ! ’ cried the thegns with one voice. 

‘ And,’ said a wise old chief, ^ had Harold sought to play a 
trick to secure the throne, he could not have devised one 
more sure than the tale he hath now told us. What ! just 
when we are most assured that the doughtiest and deadliest 
foe that our land can brave, waits but for Edward’s death to 
enforce on us a stranger’s yoke — what ! shall we for that very 
reason deprive ourselves of the only man able to resist him } 
Harold hath taken an oath ! God wot, who among us have 
not taken some oath at law for which they have deemed it 


.004 


HAROLD 


meet afterwards to do a penance, or endow a convent ? Tlie 
wisest means to strengthen Harold against that oath, is to 
show the moral impossibility of fulfilling it, by placing him 
on the throne. The best proof we can give to this insolent 
Norman that England is not for prince to leave, or subject 
to barter, is to choose solemnly in our Witan the very chief 
whom his frauds prove to us that he fears the most. Why, 
William would laugh in his own sleeve to summon a king to 
descend from his throne to do him the homage which that 
king, in the dilferent capacity of subject, had (we muII grant, 
even willingly) promised to render.* 

This speech spoke all the thoughts of the laymen, and, 
with Alred’s previous remarks, reassured all the ecclesiastics. 
They were easily induced to believe that the usual Church 
penances, and ample Church gifts, would suffice for the insult 
offered to the relics : and, — if they in so grave a case out- 
stripped, in absolution, an authority amply sufficing for all 
ordinary matters, — Harold, as king, might easily gain from 
the Pope himself that full pardon and shrift, which as mere 
earl, against the Prince of the Normans, he would fail of 
obtaining. 

These or similar reflections soon terminated the suspense 
of the select council ; and Aired sought the Earl in the 
oratory, to summon him back to the conclave. The two 
brothers were kneeling side by side before the little altar ; 
and there was something inexpressibly touching in their 
humble attitudes, their clasped supplicating hands, in that 
moment when the crown of England rested above their 
House. 

The brothers rose, and at Alred’s sign followed the 
prelate into the council-room. Aired briefly communi- 
cated the result of the conference ; and with aii aspect, and 
in a tone, free alike from triumph and indecision, Harold 
replied : — 

As ye will, so will I. Place me only where I can most 
serve the common cause. Remain you now, knowing my 
secret, a chosen and standing council : too great is my 
personal stake in this matter to allow my mind to be 
unbiassed ; judge ye, then, and decide for me all things : 
your minds should be calmer and wiser than mine ; in all 
things I will abide by your counsel ; and thus I accept the 
trust of a nation’s freedom.’ 

Each thegn then put his hand into Harold’s, and called 
himself Harold’s man. 

^ Now, more than ever,’ said the wise old thegn who had 
before spoken, ^ will it be needful to heal all dissension in 
the kingdom — to reconcile with us Mercia and Northumbria, 


HAROLD 


305 


aud make the kingdom one against the foe. You, as 
Tostig’s brother, have done well to abstain from active in- 
terference ; you do well to leave it to us to negotiate the 
necessary alliance between all brave and good men.’ 

^ And to that end, as imperative for the public weal, you 
consent,’ said Aired, thoughtfully, ^ to abide by our advice, 
whatever it be ’ 

'Whatever it be, so that it serve England,’ answered the 
^ Earl. 

A smile, somewhat sad, flitted over the prelate’s pale lips, 
and Harold was once more alone with Gurth. 


CHAPTER VII 

The soul of all council and cabal, on behalf of Harold, which 
had led to the determination of the principal chiefs, and 
which now succeeded it — was Haco. 

His rank as son of Sweyn, the firstborn of Godwin’s house 
— a rank which might have authorised some pretensions on 
his own part, gave him all field for the exercise of an in- 
tellect singularly keen and profound. Accustomed to an 
atmosphere of practical state-craft in the Norman court, 
with faculties sharpened from boyhood by vigilance and 
meditation, he exercised an extraordinary influence over 
the simple understandings of the homely clergy and the 
uncultured thegns. Impressed with the conviction of his 
early doom, he felt no interest in the objects of others ; but 
equally believing that whatever of bright, and brave, and 
glorious, in his brief, condemned career, was to be reflected 
on him from the light of Harold’s destiny, the sole desire 
of a nature, which, under other auspices, would have been 
intensely daring and ambitious, v as to administer to Harold’s 
greatness. No prejudice, no principle stood in the way of 
this dreary enthusiasm. As a father, himself on the brink 
of the grave, schemes for the worldly grandeur of the son, 
in whom he confounds and melts his own life, so this 
sombre and predestined man, dead to earth and to joy and 
the emotions of the heart, looked beyond his own tomb, 
to that existence in which he transferred and carried on 
his ambition. 

If the leading agencies of Harold’s memorable career 
might be, as it were, symbolised and allegorised, by the 
living beings with which it was connected — as Edith was 
the representative of stainless Truth— as Gurth was the type 
u 


of dauntless Duty— as Hilda embodied aspiring Imagination 
— so Haco seemed the personation of Worldly Wisdom. 
And cold in that worldly wisdom Haco laboured on, now 
conferring with Aired and the partisans of Harold ; now 
closeted with Ed^dn and Morcar; now gliding from the 
chamber of the sick king. — That wisdom foresaw all ob- 
stacles, smoothed all difficulties ; ever calm, never resting : 
marshalling and harmonising the things to be, like the 
ruthless hand of a tranquil fate. But there was one with 
whom Haco was more often than with all others — one whom 
the presence of Harold had allured to that anxious scene of 
intrigue, and whose heart leapt high at the hopes whispered 
from the smileless lips of Haco. 


CHAPTER VIII 

It was the second day after that which assured him the 
allegiance of the thegns, that a message was brought to 
Harold from the Lady Aldyth. She was in Oxford, at a 
convent, with her young daughter by the Welch king; she 
prayed him to visit her. The Earl, whose active mind, 
abstaining from the intrigues around him, was delivered up 
to the thoughts, restless and feverish, which haunt the re- 
pose of all active minds, was not unwilling to escape awhile 
from himself. He went to Aldyth. The royal Mudow had 
laid by the signs of mourning; she was dressed with the 
usual stately and loose-robed splendour of Saxon matrons, 
and all the proud beauty of her youth was restored to her 
cheek. At her feet was that daughter who afterwards 
married the Fleance so familiar to us in Shakspeare, and 
became the ancestral mother of those Scottish kings who 
had passed, in pale shadows, across the eyes of Macbeth ; 
by the side of that child, Harold to his surprise saw the 
ever ominous face of Haco. 

But proud as was Aldyth, all pride seemed humbled into 
woman’s sweeter emotions at the sight of the Earl, and 
she was at first unable to command words to answer his 
greeting. 

Gradually, however, she warmed into cordial confidence. 
She touched lightly on her past sorrows ; she permitted it 
to be seen that her lot with the fierce Gryffyth had been one 
not more of public calamity than of domestic grief, and 
that in the natural awe and horror which the murder of 
her lord had caused, she felt rather for the ill-starred king 


HAROLD 


m 

than the beloved spouse. She then passed to the differ- 
ences still existing between her house and Harold’s, and 
spoke well and wisely of the desire of the young earls to 
conciliate his grace and favour. 

While thus speaking, Morcar and Edwin, as if acci- 
dentally, entered, and their salutations of Harold were 
such as became their relative positions ; reserved, not 
distant — respectful, not servile. With the delicacy of high 
natures, they avoided touching on the cause before the 
Witan (fixed for the morrow), on which depended their 
earldoms or their exile. 

Harold was pleased by their bearing, and attracted to- 
wards them by the memory of the affectionate words that 
had passed between him and Leofric, their illustrious grand- 
sire, over his father’s corpse. He thought then of his own 
prayer : Let there be peace betw een thine and mine ! ’ and 
looking at their fair and stately youth, and noble carriage, 
he could not but feel that the men of Northumbria and of 
Mercia had chosen well. The discourse, however, was 
naturally brief, since thus made general ; the visit soon 
ceased, and the brothers attended Harold to the door with 
the courtesy of the times. Then Haco said, with that faint 
movement of the lips which was his only approach to a 
smile. 

MTill ye not, noble thegns, give your hands to my 
kinsman ? ’ 

^ Surely,’ said Edwin, the handsomer and more gentle of 
the two, and who, having a poet’s nature, felt a poet’s en- 
thusiasm for the gallant deeds even of a rival, — ^surely, if 
the Earl will accept the hands of those who trust never to 
be compelled to draw sword against England’s hero.’ 

Harold stretched forth his hand in reply, and that cordial 
and immemorial pledge of our national friendships was 
interchanged. 

Gaining the street, Harold said to his nephew — 

Standing as 1 do towards the young Earls, that appeal of 
thine had been better omitted.’ 

^Nay,’ answ^ered Haco ; Hheir cause is already prejudged 
in their favour. And thou must ally thyself with the heirs 
of Leofric, and the successors of Siward.’ 

Harold made no answer. There was something in the 
positive tone of this beardless youth that displeased him ; 
but he remembered that Haco was the son of Sweyn, God- 
win’s first-born, and that, but for Sweyn’s crimes, Haco 
might have held the place in England he held himself, 
and looked to the same august destinies beyond. 

In the evening a messenger from the Roman house arrived. 


308 


HAROLD 


with two letters for Harold ; one from Hilda, that contained 
but these M'ords : ^ Again peril menaces thee, but in the 
shape of good. Beware ! and, above all, of the evil that 
■w ears the form of wisdom.’ 

The other letter was from Edith ; it was long for the letters 
of that age, and every sentence spoke a heart wrapped in his. 

Reading tlie last, Hilda’s warnings were forgotten. Tlie 
picture of Edith — the prospect of a power that might at last 
effect their union, and reward her long devotion — rose before 
him, to tlie exclusion of wilder fancies and loftier hopes ; and 
his sleep that night was full of youthful and happy dreams. 

The next day the Witan met. The meeting was less 
stormy than had been expected ; for the minds of most men 
were made up, and so far as Tostig was interested, the facts 
were too evident and notorious, the witnesses too numerous, 
to leave any option to the judges. Edward, on whom alone 
Tostig had relied, had already, with his ordinary vacillation, 
been swayed towards a right decision, partly by the counsels 
of Aired and his other prelates, and especially by the repre- 
sentations of Haco, whose grave bearing and profound dis- 
simulation had gained a singular influence over the formal 
and melancholy King. 

By some previous compact or understanding between the 
opposing parties, there w^as no attempt, however, to push 
matters against the offending Tostig to vindictive extremes. 
There was no suggestion of outlawry, or punishment, beyond 
the simple deprivation of the earldom he had abused. And 
in return for this moderation on the one side, the other 
agreed to support and ratify the new election of the North- 
umbrians. Morcar was thus formally invested wdth the vice- 
kingship of that great realm ; while Edwin was confirmed 
in the earldom of the principal part of Mercia. 

On the announcement of these decrees, which were re- 
ceived w ith loud applause by all the crow d assembled to hear 
them, Tostig, rallying round him his house-carles, left the 
town. He went first to Githa, with wdiom his wife had 
sought refuge ; and, after a long conference with his mother, 
he, and his haughty Countess, journeyed to the sea-coast, 
and took ship for Flanders. 


CHAPTER IX 

Gurth and Harold were seated in close commune in the 
Earl’s chamber, at an hour long after the complin (or second 
vespers), when Aired entered unexpectedly. The old man’s 


HAROLD 


309 


face was unusually grave, and Harold’s penetrating eye saw 
that he was gloomy with some matters of great moment. 

^Harold,’ said the prelate, seating himself, ^the hour has 
come to test thy truth, when thou saidst that thou wert 
ready to make all sacrifice to thy laud, and further, that 
thou w^ouldst abide by the counsel of those free from thy 
passions, and looking on thee only as the instrument of 
England’s weal.’ 

‘ Speak on, father,’ said Harold, turning somew^hat pale at 
the solemnity of the address ; ‘ I am ready, if the council 
so desire, to remain a subject, and aid in the choice of a 
worthier king.’ 

Thou divinest me ill,’ answered Aired ; I do not call on 
thee to lay aside the crowui, but to crucify the heart. The 
decree of the Witan assigns Mercia and Northumbria to the 
sons of Algar. The old demarcations of the heptarchy, as 
thou knowest, are scarce worn out ; it is even now less one 
monarchy, than various states retaining their own laws, and 
inhabited by different races, w'ho under the sub-kings, called 
earls, acknow ledge a supreme head in the Basileus of Britain. 
Mercia hath its March law and its prince ; Northumbria its 
Dane law, and its leader. To elect a king without civil 
war, these realms, for so they are, must unite with and 
sanction the Witans elsewhere held. Only thus can the 
kingdom be firm against foes w ithout and anarchy w ithin ; 
and the more so, from the alliance between the new earls of 
those great provinces and the house of Gryffyth, which still 
lives in Caradoc his son. What if at Edw ard’s death Mercia 
and Northumbria refuse to sanction thy accession ? What, 
if, when all our force w^ere needed against the Norman, the 
Welch broke loose from their hills, and the Scots from their 
moors ! Malcolm of Cumbria, now King of Scotland, is 
Tostig’s dearest friend, while his people side with Morcar. 
Verily these are dangers enow for a new' king, even if 
William’s sw'ord slept in its sheath.’ 

^ Tliou speakest the w'ords of wisdom,’ said Harold, ‘ but I 
knew beforehand that he who w'ears a crown must abjure 
repose.’ 

^ Not so ; there is one w ay, and but one, to reconcile all 
England to thy dominion — to win to thee not the cold 
neutrality but the eager zeal of Mercia and Northumbria ; 
to make the first guard thee from the Welch, the last be 
thy rampart against the Scot. In a word, thou must ally 
thyself with the blood of these young earls ; thou must wed 
with Aldyth their sister.’ 

The Earl sprang to his feet aghast. 

— no he exclaimed; ^not that !— any sacrifice but 


810 


HAROLD 


that !— rather forfeit the throne than resign the heart that 
leans on mine ! Thou knowest my pledge to Edith, my 
cousin ; pledge hallowed by the faith of long years. No — 
no, have mercy — human mercy ; I can wed no other ! — any 
sacrifice but that ! ’ 

The good prelate, though not unprepared for this burst, 
was much moved by its genuine anguish ; but, steadfast to 
his purpose, he resumed : — 

^Alas, my son, so say we all in the hour of trial — any 
sacrifice but that which duty and heaven ordain. Resign 
the throne thou canst not, or thou leavest the land without 
a ruler, distracted by rival claims and ambitions, an easy 
prey to the Norman. Resign thy human affections thou 
canst and must ; and the more, O Harold, that even if 
duty compelled not this new alliance, the old tie is one of 
sin, which, as king, and as high example in high place to 
all men, thy conscience within, and the Church without, 
summon thee to break. How purify the erring lives of 
the churchmen, if thyself a rebel to the Church ? and if 
thou hast thought that thy power as king might prevail 
on the Roman Pontiff to grant dispensation for wedlock 
within the degi-ees, and that so thou mightest legally con- 
firm thy now illegal troth ; bethink thee well, thou hast 
a more dread and urgent boon now to ask — in absolution 
from thine oath to William. Both prayers, surely, our 
Roman father will not grant. ^V'ilt thou choose that which 
absolves from sin, or that which consults but thy carnal 
affections ? ’ 

Harold covered his face with his hands, and groaned aloud 
in his strong agony. 

‘ Aid me, Gurth,’ cried Aired, ‘ thou, sinless and spotless ; 
thou, in whose voice a brother’s love can blend Mutli a Chris- 
tian’s zeal ; aid me, Gurth, to melt the stubborn, but to 
comfort the human, heart.’ 

Then Gurth, with a strong effort over himself, knelt by 
Harold’s side, and in strong simple language, backed the 
representations of the priest. In truth, all argument draM ii 
from reason, whether in the state of the land, or the new 
duties to which Harold was committed, were on the one 
side, and unanswerable ; on the other, was but that mighty 
resistance which love opposes ever to reason. And Harold 
continued to murmur, while his hands concealed his face — 

^ Impossible ! — she who trusted, who trusts — who so loves 
— -she whose whole youth hath been consumed in patient 
faith in me ! — Resign her ! and for another ! I cannot — 
I cannot. Take from me the throne ! — Oh vain heart of 
man, that so long desired its own curse !— Crown the Athe- 


HAROLD 


mi 

ling; mv manhood shall defend his youth. — But not this 
olFering ! No, no — I will not ! ’ 

It were tedious to relate the rest of that prolonged and 
agitated conference. All that night, till the last stars 
waned, and the bells of prime were heard from church and 
convent, did the priest and the brother alternately plead 
and remonstrate, chide and soothe ; and still Harold’s heart 
clung to Edith’s, with its bleeding roots. At length they, 
perhaps not unwisely, left him to himself; and as, whisper- 
ing low their hopes and their fears of the result of the self- 
conflict, they went forth from the convent, Haco joined 
them in the courtyard, and while his cold mournful eye 
scanned the faces of priest and brother, he asked them ' how 
they had sped } ’ 

Aired shook his head and answered — 

^ Man’s heart is more strong in the flesh than true to the 
spirit.’ 

^ Pardon me, father,’ said Haco, ^ if I suggest that your 
most eloquent and persuasive ally in this, were Edith herself. 
Start not so incredulously ; it is because she loves the Earl 
more than her own life, that — once show her that the Earl’s 
safety, greatness, honour, duty, lie in release from his troth 
to her — that nought save his erring love resists your councils 
and his country’s claims — and Edith’s voice will have more 
power than yours.’ 

The virtuous prelate, more acquainted with man’s selfish- 
ness than woman’s devotion, only replied by an impatient 
gesture. But Gurth, lately wedded to a woman worthy of 
him, said gravely — 

^ Haco speaks well, my father ; and methinks it is due to 
both that Edith should not, unconsulted, be abandoned by 
him for whom she has abjured all others ; to whom she has 
been as devoted in heart as if sworn wife ah-eady. Leave 
we a while my brother, never the slave of passion, and with 
whom England must at last prevail over all selfish thought ; 
and ride we at once to tell to Edith what we have told to 
him ; or rather — woman can best in such a case speak to 
woman — let us tell all to our Lady — Edward’s wife, Harold’s 
sister, and Edith’s holy godmother — and abide by her counsel. 
On the third day we shall return.’ 

^Go we so charged, noble Gurth,’ said Haco, observing 
the prelate’s reluctant countenance, ^and leave we our 
reverend father to watch over the Earl’s sharp struggle.’ 

‘ Thou speakest well, my son,’ said the prelate, ^ and thy 
mission suits the young and the layman, better than the old 
and the priest.’ 

^ Let us go, Haco,’ said Gurth, briefly. ' Deep, sore, and 


312 


HAROLD 


lasting, is the wound I inflict on the brother of my love ; 
and my own heart bleeds in his ; but he himself hath taught 
me to hold England as a Roman held Rome.’ 


CHAPTER X 

It is the nature of that happiness which we derive from our 
affections to be calm ; its immense influence upon our out- 
ward life is not known till it is troubled or withdrawn. By 
placing his heart at peace, man leaves vent to his energies 
and passions, and permits their current to flow towards the 
aims and objects which interest labour or arouse ambition. 
Hius absorbed in the occupation without, he is lulled into 
a certain forgetfulness of the value of that internal repose 
which gives health and vigour to the faculties he employs 
abroad. But once mar this scarce felt, almost invisible 
harmony, and the discord extends to the remotest chords 
of our active being. Say to the busiest man whom thou 
seest in mart, camp, or senate, who seems to thee all intent 
upon his worldly schemes, ^ ITiy home is reft from thee — 
thy household gods are shattered — that sweet noiseless con- 
tent in the regular mechanism of the springs, which set the 
large wheels of thy soul into movesment, is thine, nevermore!’ 
— and straightway all exertion seems robbed of its object — 
all aim of its alluring charm. ^ Othello’s occupation is gone !’ 
AV^ith a start, that man will awaken from the sunlit visions 
of noontide ambition, and exclaim in his desolate anguish, 
‘ What are all the rewards to my labour, now thou hast 
robbed me of repose ? How little are all the gains wrung 
from strife, in a world of rivals and foes, compared to the 
smile whose sweetness I knew not till it was lost ; and the 
sense of security from moral ill which I took from the trust 
and sympathy of love ! ’ 

Thus was it with Harold in that bitter and terrible crisis 
of his fate. This rare and spiritual love, which had existed 
on hope, which had never knowui fruition, had become the 
subtlest, the most exquisite part of his being ; this love, to 
the full and holy possession of wdiicli, every step in his 
career seemed to advance him, was it now to be evermore 
reft from his heart, his existence, at the very moment when 
he had deemed himself most secure of its rewards — when he 
most needed its consolations ? Hitherto, in that love he had 
lived in the future — he had silenced the voice of the turbulent 
human passion by the whisper of the patient angel, ^ A little 


\ 


H A R ( ) I. D 


318 


while yet, and thy bride sits beside thy throne ! ’ Now what 
was the future ! how joyless ! how desolate ! The splendour 
vanished from Ambition — the glow from the face of Fame — 
the sense of Duty remained alone to counteract the pleadings . 
of Affection ; but Duty, no longer dressed in all the gorgeous 
colourings it took before from glory and power — Duty stern, 
and harsh, and terrible, as the iron frown of a' Grecian 
Destiny. 

And thus, front to front with that Duty, he sate alone 
one evening, while his lips murmured, 'Oh fatal voyage, 
oh lying truth in the hell-born prophecy ! this, then, this 
was the wife my league with the Norman was to win to my 
arms ! ’ In the streets below w^ere heard the tramp of busy 
feet hurrying homeward, and the confused uproar of joyous 
w'assail from the various resorts of entertainment crowded 
by careless revellers. And the tread of steps mounted the 
stairs without his door, and there paused ; — and there w^as 
the murmur of two voices without ; one the clear voice of 
Gurth, — one softer and more troubled. The Earl lifted his 
head from his bosom, and his heart beat quick at the faint 
and scarce heard sound of that last voice. The door opened 
gently, gently : a form entered, and halted on the shadow 
of the threshold ; the door closed again by a hand from 
without. The Earl rose to his feet, tremulously, and the 
next moment Edith was at his knees ; her hood thrown 
back, her face upturned to his, bright with unfaded beauty, 
serene with the grandeur of self-martyrdom. 

' O Harold ! ’ she exclaimed, ' dost thou remember that 
in the old time I said, " Edith had loved thee less, if thou 
hadst not loved England more than Edith ” ? Recall, recall 
those w'ords. And deemest thou now that I, who have 
gazed for years into thy clear soul, and learned there to 
sun my woman’s heart in the light of all glories native to 
noblest man,— deemest thou, O Harold, that I am weaker 
now than then, when I scarce knew what England and glory 
were } ’ 

'Edith, Edith, what wouldst thou say What knowest 
thou?— Who hath told thee ?— 'What led thee hither, to 
take part against thyself?’ 

' It matters not who told me ; I know all. What led me ? 
Mine own soul, and mine own love ! ’ Springing to her 
feet, and clasping his hand in both hers, while she looked 
into his face, she resumed : ' I do not say to thee, " Grieve 
not to part” ; for I know too well thy faith, thy tenderness 
— thy heart, so grand and so soft. But I do say, "Soar 
above thy grief, and be more than man for the sake of men ! ” 
Yes, Harold, for this' last time I behold thee. I clasp thy 


314 


HAROLD 


hand^ 1 lean on tliy lieart_, I hear its beating, and I shall go 
hence without a tear.’ 

^ It cannot, it shall not be ! ’ exclaimed Harold, passion- 
ately. ^ Tliou deceivest thyself in the divine passion of the 
hour : thou canst not foresee the utterness of the desolation 
to which thou wouldst doom thy life. We were betrothed 
to each other by ties strong as those of the Church, — over 
the grave of the dead, under the vault of heaven, in the 
form of ancestral faith ! The bond cannot be broken. If 
England demands me, let England take me with the ties it 
were unholy, even for her sake, to rend ! ’ 

^ Alas, alas ! ’ faltered Edith, while the flush on her 
cheek sank into mournful paleness. ^It is not as thou 
sayest. So has thy love sheltered me from the world — so 
utter was my youth’s ignorance or my heart’s oblivion of 
the stern laws of man, that wdien it pleased thee that we 
should love each other, I could not believe that that love 
was sin ; and that it was sin hitherto I will not think ; — now' 
it hath become one.’ 

^No, no!’ cried Harold; all the eloquence on which 
thousands had hung, thrilled and spell-bound, deserting 
him in that hour of need, and leaving to him only broken 
exclamations — fragments, in each of w^hich his heart itself 
seemed shivered ; no, no — not sin ! — sin only to forsake 
tliee. — Hush ! hush ! — This is a dream — wait till we wake I 
True heart ! noble soul ! — I w ill not part from thee ! ’ 

^But I from thee ! And rather than thou shouldst be 
lost for my sake — the sake of woman — to honour and con- 
science, and all for which thy sublime life sprang from the 
hands of Nature — if not the cloister, may I find the grave ! 
— Harold, to the last let me be worthy of thee ; and feel, at 
least, that if not thy wife — that bright, that blessed fate not 
mine ! — still, remembering Edith, just men may say, ^^She 
would not have dishonoured the hearth of Harold ! ” ’ 

‘ Dost thou know,’ said the Earl, striving to speak calmly, 

‘ Dost thou know that it is not only to resign thee that they 
demand — that it is to resign thee, and for another ? ’ 

I know it,’ said Edith ; and two burning tears, despite 
her strong and preternatural self-exultation, swelled from 
the dark fringe, and rolled slowly down the colourless cheek, 
as she added, with proud voice, ^ I know it : but that other 
is not Aldyth, it is England ! In her, in Aldyth, behold the 
dear cause of thy native land ; with her enweave the love 
w'hich thy native land should command. So thinking, thou 
art reconciled, and I consoled. It is not for woman that 
thou desertest Edith.’ 

^Hear, and take from those lips the strength and the 


H A II O L 1) 


.315 


valour that belong to the name of Hero ! ’ said a deep and 
clear voice behind ; and Gurth — whoj whether distrusting 
the result of an interview so prolonged, or tenderly desirous 
to terminate its pain, had entered unobserved — approached, 
and wound his arm caressingly round his brother. ^Oh, 
Harold ! ’ he said, ‘ dear to me as the drops in my heart 
is my young bride, newly wed ; but if for one tithe of the 
claims that now call thee to the torture and trial — yea, if 
but for one hour of good service to freedom and law — I 
would consent without a groan to behold her no more. 
And if men asked me how I could so conquer man’s affec- 
tions, I would point to thee, and say, “ So Harold taught 
my youth by his lessons, and my manhood by his life.” 
Before thee, visible, stand Happiness and Love, but with 
them, Shame ; before thee, invisible, stands Woe, but with 
Woe are England and eternal Glory ! Choose between 
them.’ 

^He hath chosen,’ said Edith, as Harold turned to the 
wall, and leaned against it, hiding his face ; then, approach- 
ing softly, she knelt, lifted to her lips the hem of his robe, 
and kissed it with devout passion. 

Harold turned suddenly, and opened his arms. Edith 
resisted not that mute appeal ; she rose, and fell on his 
breast, sobbing. 

Wild and speechless was that last embrace. The moon, 
which had witnessed their union by the heathen grave, now 
rose above the tower of the Christian church, and looked 
wan and cold upon their parting. 

Solemn and clear paused the orb — a cloud passed over 
the disk — and Edith was gone. The cloud rolled away, 
and again the moon shone forth ; and where had knelt the 
fair form, and looked the last look of Edith, stood the 
motionless image, and gazed the solemn eye, of the dark 
son of Sweyn. But Harold leant on the breast of Gurth, 
and saw not who had supplanted the soft and loving Fylgia 
of his life — saw nought in the universe but the blank of 
desolation ! 


BOOK XI 


THE NORMAN SCHEMER^ AND THE NORM’EGIAN SEA-KING 

CHAPTER I 

It was the eve of the 5th of January — the eve of the day 
announced to King Edward as that of his deliverance from 
earth ; and whether or not the prediction had wrought its 
own fulfilment on the fragile frame and susceptible nerves 
of the King, the last of the line of Cerdic was fast passing 
into the solemn shades of eternity. 

^V'ithout the walls of the palace, through the whole city 
of London, the excitement was indescribaHe. All the river 
before the palace was crowded with boats ; all the broad 
space on the Isle of Thorney itself, thronged with anxious 
groups. .But a few days before, the new-built Abbey had 
been solemnly consecrated ; with the completion of that 
holy edifice, Edward’s life itself seemed done. Like the 
kings of Egypt, he had built his tomb. 

Within the palace, if possible, still greater was the agita- 
tion, more dread the suspense. Lobbies, halls, corridors, 
stairs, ante-rooms, were filled with churchmen and thegns. 
Nor was it alone for news of the King’s state that their 
lirows were so knit, that their breath came and went so 
short. It is not when a great chief is dying, that men com- 
pose their minds to deplore a loss. That comes long after, 
when the worm is at its work, and comparison between 
the dead and the living often rights the one to wrong the 
other. But while the breath is struggling, and the eye 
glazing, life, busy in the bystanders, murmurs, ^ Who shall 
be the heir.^’ And, in this instance, never had suspense 
been so keenly wrought up into hope and terror. For the 
news of Duke William’s designs had now spread far and 
near; and awful was the doubt, whether the abhorred 
Norman should receive his sole sanction to so arrogant a 
claim from the parting assent of Edward. Although, as we 
316 


HAROLD 


317 


have seen, the crown was not absolutely within the bequests 
of a dying- king, hut at the will of the Witan, still, in cir- 
cumstances so unparalleled, the utter failure of all natural 
heirs, save a boy feeble in mind as body, and half foreign by 
birth and rearing ; the love borne by Edward to the Church ; 
and the sentiments, half of pity half of reverence, with which 
he was regarded throughout the land ; — his dying word would 
go far to influence the council and select the successor. 
Some whispering to each other, with pale lips, all the dire 
predictions then current in men’s mouths and breasts ; 
some in moody silence ; all lifted eager eyes, as, from time 
to time, a gloomy Benedictine passed in the direction to or 
fro the King’s chamber. 

In that chamber, traversing the past of eight centuries, 
enter we 'with hushed and noiseless feet — a room known to 
us in many a later scene and legend of England’s troubled 
history, as ^The Painted Chamber,’ long called ^The 
Confessor’s.’ At the farthest end of that long and lofty 
space, raised upon a regal platform, and roofed with regal 
canopy, was the bed of death. 

At the foot stood Harold ; on one side knelt Edith, the 
King’s lady ; at the other Aired ; while Stigand stood near 
— the holy rood in his hand — and the abbot of the new 
monastery of Westminster by Stigand’s side ; and all the 
greatest thegns, including Morcar and Edwin, Gurth and 
Leofwine, all the more illustrious prelates and abbots, stood 
also on the dais. 

In the lower end of the hall, the King’s physician was 
warming a cordial over the brazier, and some of the sub- 
ordinate officers of the household were standing in the 
niches of the deep-set windows ; and they — not great eno’ 
for other emotions than those of human love for their 
kindly lord — they wept. 

Tlie King, who had already undergone the last holy 
offices of the Church, was lying quite quiet, his eyes half- 
closed, breathing low but regularly. He had been speech- 
less the two preceding days ; on this he had uttered a few 
w'ords, which showed returning consciousness. His hand, 
reclined on the coverlid, was clasped in his wife’s, who was 
praying fervently. Something in the touch of her hand, 
or the sound of her murmur, stirred the King from the 
growing lethargy, and his eyes opening, fixed on the 
kneeling lady. 

^ Ah } ’ said he faintly, ^ ever good, ever meek ! Think 
not I did not love thee ; hearts will be read yonder ; w e 
shall have our guerdon.’ 

The lady looked up through her streaming tears. Edward 


HAROLD 


ms 

released his hand and laid it on her head as in benediction. 
Then motioning to the abbot of Westminster, he drew from 
his finger the ring which the palmers had brought to him, 
and murmured scarce audibly — 

^Be this kept in the house of St. Peter in memory of 
me ! ’ 

^He is alive now to us — speak — ’ whispered more than 
one thegn, one abbot, to Aired and to Stigand. And Stigand, 
as the harder and more worldly man of the two, moved up, 
and bending over the pillow, between Aired and the King, 
said — 

royal son, about to win the crown to which that of 
earth is but an idiot’s wreath of withered leaves, not yet 
may thy soul forsake us. Whom commendest thou to us as 
shepherd to thy bereaven flock whom shall we admonish 
to tread in those traces thy footsteps leave below } ’ 

The King made a slight gesture of impatience ; and the 
Queen, forgetful of all but her womanly sorrow, raised 
her eye and finger in reproof that the dying Mas thus 
disturbed. But the stake was too M'eighty, the suspense 
too keen, for that reverent delicacy in those around ; and 
the thegns pressed on each other, and a murmur rose, M'hich 
murmured the name of Harold. 

^Bethink thee, my son,’ said Aired, in a tender voice, 
tremulous with emotion ; ^ the young Atheling is too much 
an infant yet for these anxious times.’ 

Edward signed his head in assent. 

^ Then,’ said the Norman bishop of London, mAio till that 
moment had stood in the rear, almost forgotten amongst 
the crowd of Saxon prelates, but M’ho himself had been all 
eyes and ears. ^Then,’ said Bishop William, advancing, 

^ if thine own royal line so fail, mIio so near to thy love, 
who so worthy to succeed, as William thy cousin, the Count 
of the Normans ? ’ 

Dark was the scowl on the broM' of every thegn, and a 
muttered ^ No, no : never the Norman ! ’ was heard dis- 
tinctly. Harold’s face flushed, and his hand was on the 
hilt of his ateghar. But no other sign gave he of his 
interest in the question. 

Tlie King lay for some moments silent, but evidently 
striving to re-collect his thought. Meanwhile the two arch- 
prelates bent over him — Stigand eagerly. Aired fondly. 

nieii raising himself on one arm. Mobile M'ith the other 
he pointed to Harold at the foot of the bed, the King 
said — 

‘Your hearts, I see, are Muth Harold the Earl : so be it.’ 

At those words he fell back on his pilloM' ; a loud shriek 


HAROLD 


nio 

burst from his w ife’s lips ; all crow ded around ; he lav as 
the dead. 

At the cry, and the indescribable movement of the throng, 
the physician came quick from the lower part of the hall. 
He made his way abruptly to the bedside, and said chidingly, 
^ Air, give him air.’ The throng parted, the leach moistened 
the King’s pale lips with the cordial, but no breath seemed 
to come forth, no pulse seemed to beat ; and while the two 
prelates knelt before the human body and by the blessed 
rood, the rest descended the dais, and hastened to depart. 
Harold only remained ; but he had passed from the foot to 
the head of the bed. 

The crowd had gained the centre of the hall, when a 
sound that startled them as if it had come from the grave, 
chained every footstep — the sound of the King’s voice, 
loud, terribly distinct, and full, as with the vigour of youth 
restored. All turned their eyes, appalled ; all stood spell- 
bound. 

> "fhere sate the King upright on the bed, his face seen 
above the kneeling prelates, and his eyes bright and shining 
down the Hall. 

^Yea,’ he said, deliberately, ^yea, as this shall be a real 
vision or a false illusion, grant me. Almighty One, the 
power of speech to tell it.’ 

He paused a moment, and thus resumed — 

^ It was on the banks of the frozen Seine, this day thirty- 
and-one winters ago, that two holy monks, to whom the gift 
of prophecy w^as vouchsafed, told me of direful w^oes that 
should fall on England; For God,” said they, after thy 
death, has delivered England into the hand of the enemy, 
and fiends shall wander over the land.” Then I asked in 
my sorrow, Can nought avert the doom and may not my 
people free themselves by repentance, like the Ninevites of 
old.^” And the Prophets answered, ‘^Nay, nor shall the 
calamity cease, and the curse be completed, till a green tree 
be sundered in twain, and the part cut olf be carried away ; 
yet move, of itself, to the ancient trunk, unite to the stem, 
bud out with the blossom, and stretch forth its fruit.” So 
said the monks, and even now, ere I spoke, I saw^ them 
again, there, standing mute, and with the paleness of dead 
men, by the side of my bed ! ’ 

These words were said so calmly, and as it were • so 
rationally, that their import became doubly awful from the 
cold precision of the tone. A shudder passed through the 
assembly, and each man shrank from the King’s eye, wdiich 
seemed to each man to dw^ell on himself. Suddenly that 
eye altered in its cold beam ; suddenly the voice changed 


320 


HAROLD 


its deliberate accent ; the grey hairs seemed to bristle erect, 
the whole face to work with horror ; the arms stretched 
forth, the form writhed on the couch, distorted fragments 
from the older Testament rushed from the lips : ^Sanyuelac ! 
Sanguelac Lake of Blood,’ shrieked forth the dying 

King, ‘^the Lord hath bent his bow — the Lord hath bared 
his sword. He comes down as a warrior to war, and his 
wrath is in the steel and the flame. He boweth the 
mountains, and comes down, and darkness is under his 
feet ! ’ 

As if revived but for these tremendous denunciations, 
while the last word left his lips the frame collapsed, the 
eyes set, and the King fell a corpse in the arms of Harold. 

But one smile of the sceptic or the world-man was seen 
on the paling lips of those present : that smile was not on 
the lips of warriors and men of mail. It distorted the 
sharpened features of Stigand, the world-man and the 
miser, as, passing down, and amidst the group, he said, 
' Tremble ye at the dreams of a sick old man ? ’ 


CHAPTER II 

The time of year customary for the National Assembly ; 
the recent consecration of \Vestminster, for which Edward 
had convened all his chief spiritual lords, the anxiety felt 
for the infirm state of the King, and the interest as to the 
impending succession — all concurred to permit the instan- 
taneous meeting of a Witan worthy, from rank and numbers, 
to meet the emergency of the time, and proceed to the most 
momentous election ever yet known in England. The 
thegns and prelates met in haste. Harold’s marriage with 
Aldyth, which had taken place but a few weeks before, had 
united all parties with his own ; not a claim counter to the 
^reat Earl’s was advanced ; the choice w^as unanimous. 
The necessity of terminating at such a crisis all suspense 
throughout the kingdom, and extinguishing the danger of 
all counter intrigues, forbade to men thus united any delay 
in solemnising their decision ; and the august obsequies of 
Edward were followed on the same day by the coronation of 
Harold. 

It was in tlie body of the mighty Abbey Church, not 
indeed as we see it now, after successive restorations and 
remodellings, but simple in its long rows of Saxon arch and 
massive column, blending the first Teuton with the last 


HAROLD 


321 


Roman masonries, that the crowd of the Saxon freemen 
assembled to honour the monarch of their choice. First 
Saxon king, since England had been one monarchy, selected 
not from the single House of Cerdic — first Saxon king, not 
led to the throne by the pale shades of fabled ancestors 
tracing their descent from the Father-God of the Teuton, 
but by the spirits that never know a grave — the arch-eternal 
givers of crowns, and founders of dynasties— Valour and 
Fame. 

Aired and Stigand, the two great prelates of the realm, 
had conducted Harold to the Church, and up the aisle to the 
altar, followed by the chiefs of the Witan in their long 
robes ; and the clergy with their abbots and bishops sang 
the anthems — ‘ Fermetur manus tua’ and ^ Gloria Patri/ 

And now the music ceased ; Harold prostrated himself 
before the altar, and the sacred melody burst forth with the 
great hymn, ^Te Deum. ’ 

As it ceased, prelate and thegn raised their chief from the 
floor, and in imitation of the old custom of Teuton and 
Northman — when the lord of their armaments was borne on 
shoulder and shield — Harold mounted a platform, and rose 
in full view of the crowd. 

^Thus,’ said the Archprelate, ‘^we choose Harold son of 
Godwin for lord and for king.’ And the thegns drew round, 
and placed hand on Harold’s knee, and cried aloud, ^We 
choose thee, O Harold, for lord and for king.’ And row by 
row, line by line, all the multitude shouted forth, ^We 
choose thee, O Harold, for lord and king.’ So there he 
stood with his calm brow, facing all. Monarch of England, 
and Basileus of Britain. 

Now unheeded amidst the throng, and leaning against a 
column in the arches of the aisle, was a woman with her 
veil round her face ; and she lifted the veil for a moment to 
gaze on that lofty brow, and the tears were streaming fast 
down her cheek, but her face was not sad. 

^ Let the vulgar not see, to pity or scorn thee, daughter 
of kings as great as he who abandons and forsakes thee ! ’ 
murmured a voice in her ear ; and the form of Hilda, 
needing no support from column or wall, rose erect by the 
side of Edith. Edith bowed her head and lowered the veil, 
as the King descended the platform and stood again by the 
altar, while clear through the hushed assembly rang the words 
of his triple promise to his people : 

^ Peace to his Church and the Christian flock. 

^Interdict of rapacity and injustice. * k 

^Equity and mercy in his judgments, as God the gracious 
and just might show mercy to him.’ 


X 


322 HAROLD 

And deep from the hearts of thousands came the low 
^ Amen.’ 

Then after a short prayer, which each prelate repeated, 
the crowd saw afar the glitter of the crown held over the 
head of the King. The voice of the consecrator was heard, 
low till it came to the words, ^ So potently and royally may 
he rule, against all visible and invisible foes, that the royal 
throne of the Angles and Saxons may not desert his sceptre.’ 

As the prayer ceased, came the symbolical rite of anoint- 
ment. Then pealed the sonorous organ, and solemn along 
the aisles rose the anthem that closed with the chorus, 
which the voice of the multitude swelled, ^May the King 
live for ever !’ Tlien the crown that had gleamed in the 
trembling hand of the prelate, rested firm in its splendour on 
the front of the King. And the sceptre of rule, and the 
rod of justice, ^to soothe the pious and terrify the bad,’ 
were placed in the royal hands. And the prayer and the 
blessings were renewed, — till the close ; ^ Bless, Lord, the 
courage of this Prince, and prosper the works of his hand. 
With his horn, as the horn of the rhinoceros, may he blow 
the waters to the extremities of the earth ; and may He who 
has ascended to the skies be his aid for ever ! ’ 

Then Hilda stretched forth her hand to lead Edith from 
the place. But Edith shook her head and murmured — 

^ But once again, but once ! ’ and with involuntary step 
moved on. 

Suddenly, close where she paused, the crowd parted, and 
down the narrow lane so formed amidst the wedged and 
breathless crowd came the august procession ; — prelate and 
thegn swept on from the church to the palace ; and alone, 
with firm and measured step, the diadem on his brow, the 
sceptre in his hand, came the King. Edith checked the 
rushing impulse at her heart, but she bent forward, with 
veil half drawn aside, and so gazed on that face and form of 
more than royal majesty, fondly, proudly. The King swept 
on and saw her not ; love lived no more for him. 


CHAPTER III 

The boat shot over the royal Thames. Borne along the 
waters, the shouts and the hymns of swarming thousands 
from the land, sliook like a blast the gelid air of the Wolf- 
month. All space seemed filled and noisy with the name of 
Harold the King. Fast rowed the rowers, — on shot the 


HAROLD 


323 


boat ; and Hilda’s face, stern and ominous, turned to the 
still towers of the palace, gleaming wide and white in the 
wintry sun. Suddenly Edith lifted her hand from her 
bosom, and said passionately — 

^ Oh ! mother of my mother, I cannot live again in the 
house where the very walls speak to me of him ; all things 
chain my soul to the earth ; and my soul should be in 
heaven, that its prayers may be heard by the heedful angels. 
The day that the holy Lady of England predicted hath come 
to pass, and the silver cord is loosed at last. Ah why, why 
did I not believe her then.^ why did I then reject the 
cloister? Yet no, I will not repent; at least I have been 
loved ! But now I will go to the nunnery of Waltham, and 
kneel to the altars he hath hallowed to the mone and the 
monechyn.’ 

Edith,’ said the Vala, ^thou wilt not bury thy life yet 
young in the living grave ! And, despite all that now severs 
you — yea, despite Harold’s new, and loveless ties — still 
clearer than ever it is written in the heavens, that a day 
shall come, in which you are to be evermore united. Many 
of the shapes I have seen, many of the sounds I have heard, 
in the trance and the dream, fade in the troubled memory 
of waking life. But never yet hath grown doubtful or dim 
the prophecy, that the truth pledged by the grave shall be 
fulfilled.’ 

‘ Oh, tempt not ! oh, delude not ! ’ cried Edith, while the 
blood rushed over her brow. ^ Thou knowest this cannot be. 
Another’s ! he is another’s ! and in the words thou hast 
uttered there is deadly sin.’ 

^ There is no sin in the resolves of a fate that rules us in 
spite of ourselves. Tarry only till the year bring round the 
birthday of Harold ; for my sayings shall be ripe with the 
grape, and when the feet of the vineherd are red in the 
Month of the Vine, the Nornas shall knit ye together again !’ 

Edith clasped her hands mutely, and looked hard into the 
face of Hilda, — looked and shuddered she knew not w'hy. 

The boat landed on the eastern shore of the river, beyond 
the w^alls of the city, and then Edith bent her way to the 
holy walls of Waltham. Tlie frost was sharp in the glitter 
of the unwarming sun ; upon leafless boughs hung the 
barbed ice-gems ; and the crown was on the brows of 
Harold ! And at night, within the walls of the convent, 
Edith heard the hymns of the kneeling monks; and the 
blasts howled, and the storm arose, and the voices of 
destroying hurricanes were blent with the swell of the 
choral hymns. 


324 


HAROLD 


CHAPTER IV 

Tostig sate in the halls of Bruges^ and with him sate Judith, 
his haughty wife. The Earl and his Countess were playing 
at chess (or the game resembling it, which amused the idlesse 
of that age,) and the Countess had put her lord’s game into 
mortal disorder, when Tostig swept his hand over the board, 
and the pieces rolled on the floor. 

^That is one way to prevent defeat,’ said Judith, with a 
half-smile and half-frown. 

^It is the way of the bold and the wise, wife mine,* 
answered Tostig, rising ; ^let all be destruction where thou 
thyself canst win not ! Peace to these trifles ! I cannot keep 
my mind to the mock fight ; it flies to the real. Our last 
news sours the taste of the wine, and steals the sleep from 
my couch. It says that Edward cannot live through the 
winter, and that all men bruit abroad, there can be no king 
save Harold my brother.’ 

^And will thy brother as King give to thee again thy 
domain as Earl ? ’ 

^He must!’ answered Tostig, ‘^and, despite all our 
breaches, with soft message he will. For Harold has the 
heart of the Saxon, to which the sons of one father are 
dear ; and Githa, my mother, when we first fled, controlled 
the voice of my revenge, and bade me wait patient and 
hope yet.’ 

Scarce had these words fallen from Tostig’s lips, when the 
chief of his Danish house-carles came in, and announced the 
arrival of a bode from England. 

^ His news ? his news ? ’ cried the Earl, ^ with his own lips 
let him speak his news.’ 

The house-carle withdrew but to usher in the messenger, 
an Anglo-Dane. 

^The weight on thy brow shows the load on thy heart,’ 
cried Tostig. ^ Speak, and be brief.’ 

^Edward is dead.’ 

^ Ha ! and who reigns ? ’ 

^Thy brother is chosen and crowned.’ 

The face of the Earl grew red and pale in a breath, and 
successive emotions of envy and old rivalship, humbled pride 
and fierce discontent, passed across his turbulent heart. But 
these died away as the predominant thought of self-interest, 
and sornewhat of that admiration for success which often 
seems like magnanimity in grasping minds, and something 
too of haughty exultation, that he stood a King’s brother in 
the halls of his exile, came to chase away the more hostile 


HAROLD 


325 


and menacing feelings. Then Judith approached with joy 
on her brow^ and said — 

^ We shall no more eat the bread of dependence even at 
the hand of a father ; and since Harold hath no dame to 
proclaim to the Church, and to place on the dais, thy wife, 
O my Tostig, will have state in fair England little less than 
her sister in Rouen.’ 

^ Methinks so will it be,’ said Tostig. ^ How now, nuncius 
why lookest thou so grim, and why shakest thou thy head ? ’ 

‘ Small chance for thy dame to keep state in the halls of 
the King’; small hope for thyself to win back thy broad 
earldom. But a few weeks ere thy brother won the crown, 
he won also a bride in the house of thy spoiler and foe. 
Aldyth, the sister of Edwin and Morcar, is Lady of Eng- 
land ; and that union shuts thee out from Northumbria for 
ever.’ 

At these words, as if stricken by some deadly and inex- 
pressible insult, the Earl recoiled, and stood a moment mute 
with rage and amaze. His singular beauty became distorted 
into the lineaments of a fiend. He stamped with his foot, 
as he thundered a terrible curse. Then haughtily waving 
his hand to the bode, in sign of dismissal, he strode to and 
fro the room in gloomy perturbation. 

Judith, like her sister Matilda, a woman fierce and vin- 
dictive, continued, by that sharp venom that lies in the 
tongue of the sex, to incite still more the intense resentment 
of her lord. Perhaps some female jealousies of Aldyth might 
contribute to increase her own indignation. 

But without such frivolous addition to anger, there was 
cause eno’ in this marriage thoroughly to complete the 
alienation between the King and his brother. It was im- 
possible that one so revengeful as Tostig should not cherish 
the deepest animosity, not only against the people that had 
rejected, but the new Earl that had succeeded him. In 
wedding the sister of this fortunate rival and despoiler, 
Harold could not, therefore, but gall him in his most sen- 
sitive sores of soul. The King, thus, formally approved 
and sanctioned his ejection, solemnly took part with his foe, 
robbed him of all legal chance of recovering his dominions, 
and, in the w ords of the bode, ^ shut him out from Northum- 
bria for ever.’ Nor w^as this even all. Grant his return to 
England ; grant a reconcilation with Harold ; still those 
abhorred and more fortunate enemies, necessarily made now 
the most intimate part of the King’s family, must be most in 
his confidence, would curb and chafe and encounter Tostig 
in every scheme for his personal aggrandisement. His foes, 
in a word, were in the camp of his M’other. 


320 


HAROLD 


While guasliiiig his teeth with a wrath the more deadly 
because he saw not yet his way to retribution — Judith^ 
pursuing the separate thread of her own cogitations, said — 
^And if my sister’s lord the Count of the Normans, 
had, as rightly he ought to have, succeeded his cousin the 
Monk-king, then I should have a sister on the throne, and 
thou in her husband a brother more tender than Harold. 
One who supports his barons with sword and mail, and 
gives the villeins rebelling against them but the brand and 
the cord.’ 

‘ Ho ! ’ cried Tostig, stopping suddenly in his disordered 
strides, ^Kiss me, wife, for those words ! They have 
helped thee to power, and lit me to revenge. If thou 
wouldst send love to thy sister, take graphium and parch- 
ment, and write fast as a scribe. Ere the sun is an hour 
older, I am on my road to Count William. ’ 


CHAPTER V 

The Duke of the Normans was in the forest, or park land, 
of Rouvray, and his Quens and his knights stood around 
him, expecting some new proof of his strength and his 
skill with the bow. For the Duke was trying some arrows, 
a weapon he was ever employed in seeking to. improve ; 
sometimes shortening, sometimes lengthening, the shaft ; 
and suiting the wing of the feather, and the weight of the 
point, to the nicest refinement in the law of mechanics. 
Gay and debonair, in the brisk fresh air of the frosty 
winter, the great Count jested and laughed as the squires 
fastened a live bird by the string to a stake in the distant 
sward; and ^ Pardex/ said Duke William, Conan of Bre- 
tagne, and Philip of France, leave us now so unkindly 
in peace, that I trow we shall never again have larger butt 
for our arrows than the breast of yon poor plumed trembler.’ 

As the Duke spoke and laughed, all the sere boughs 
behind him rattled and cranched, and a horse at full speed 
came rushing over the hard rime of the sward. The Duke’s 
smile vanished in the frown of his pride. ‘ Bold rider and 
graceless,’ quoth he, ^who thus comes in the presence of 
counts and princes ? ’ 

Right up to Duke ^Filliam spurred the rider, and then 
leaped from his steed ; vest and mantle, yet more rich than 
the Duke’s, all tattered and soiled. No knee bent the 
rider, no cap did he dolF ; but seizing the startled Norman 


HAROLD 327 

with the gripe of a hand as strong as his own, he led him 
aside from the courtiers, and said — 

^Thou knowest me, William? though not thus alone 
should I come to thy court, if I did not bring thee a crown.’ 

^Welcome, brave Tostig!’ said the Duke, marvelling. 

‘ What meanest thou ? nought but good, by thy words and 
thy smile.’ 

^ Edward sleeps with the dead ! — and Harold is King of 
all England ! ’ 

^ King ! — England ! — King ! ’ faltered William, stammer- 
ing in his agitation. ^ Edward dead ! — Saints rest him ! 
England then is mine ! King ! — I am the King ! Harold 
hath sworn it ; my Quens and prelates heard him ; the 
bones of the saints attest the oath ! ’ 

^ Somewhat of this have I vaguely learned from our heau- 
pere Count Baldwin ; more will 1 learn at thy leisure ; but 
take, meanwhile, my word as Miles and Saxon — never, while 
there is breath on his lips, or one beat in his heart, will my 
brother. Lord Harold, give an inch of English land to the 
Norman.’ 

William turned pale and faint with emotion, and leant 
for support against a leafless oak. 

Busy were the rumours, and anxious the watch, of the 
Quens and knights, as their Prince stood long in the distant 
glade, conferring with the rider, whom one or two of them 
had recognised as Tostig, the spouse of Matilda’s sister. 

At length, side by side, still talking earnestly, they 
regained the group ; and William, summoning the Lord 
of Tancarville, bade him conduct Tostig to Rouen, the 
towers of which rose through the forest trees. ^ Rest and 
refresh thee, noble kinsman,’ said the Duke ; ^ see and talk 
with Matilda. I will join thee anon.’ 

The Earl remounted his steed, and saluting the company 
with a wild and hasty grace, soon vanished amidst the 
groves. 

Then William, seating himself on the sward, mechani- 
cally unstrung his bow, sighing oft, and oft frowning ; 
and without vouchsafing other word to his lords than ' No 
further sport to-day ! ’ rose slowly, and went alone through 
the thickest parts of the forest. But his faithful Fitzosborne 
marked his gloom, and fondly followed liim. The Duke 
arrived at the borders of the Seine, where his galley waited 
him. He entered, sat down on the bench, and took no 
notice of Fitzosborne, who quietly stepped in after his lord, 
and placed himself on another bench. 

The little voyage to Rouen was performed in silence ; 
and as soon as he had gained his palace, without seeking 


828 


HAROLD 


either Tostig or Matilda^ the Duke turned into the vast 
hall, in which he was wont to hold council with his barons ; 
and walked to and fro, ^ often,’ say the chronicles, ‘ changing 
posture and attitude, and oft loosening and tightening, and 
drawing into knots, the strings of his mantle. 

Fitzosborne, meanwhile, had sought the ex-Earl, who 
was closeted with Matilda; and now returning, he went 
boldly up to the Duke, whom no one else dared approach, 
and said — 

^ Why, my liege, seek to conceal what is already known 
— what ere the eve will be in the mouths of all ? You are 
troubled that Edward is dead, and that Harold, violating his 
oath, has seized the English realm.’ 

^ Truly,’ said the Duke mildly, and with the tone of a 
meek man much inj ured ; ^ my dear cousin’s death, and the 
wrongs I have received from Harold, touch me nearly.’ 

Then said Fitzosborne, with that philosophy, half grave 
as became the Scandinavian, half gay as became the Frank : 
^No man should grieve for what he can help — still less for 
what he cannot help. For Edward’s death, 1 trow, remedy 
there is none ; but for Harold’s treason, yea ! Have you 
not a noble host of knights and warriors? What want 
you to destroy the Saxon and seize his realm ? What but 
a bold heart? A great deed once well begun, is half 
done. Begin, Count of the Normans, and we will complete 
the rest.’ 

Starting from his sorely tasked dissimulation — for all 
William needed, and all of which he doubted, was the aid 
of his haughty barons — the Duke raised his head, and his 
eyes shone out. 

^ Ha, sayest thou so ! then, by the Splendour of God, 
we will do this deed. Haste thou — rouse hearts, nerve 
hands — promise, menace, win ! Broad are the lands of 
England, and generous a conqueror’s hand. Go and pre- 
pare all my faithful lords for a council, nobler than ever 
yet stirred the hearts and strung the hands of the sons of 
Rou.’ 


CHAPTER VI 

Brief was the sojourn of Tostig at the court of Rouen ; 
speedily made the contract between the grasping Duke and 
the revengeful traitor. All that had been promised to 
Harold, was now pledged to Tostig — if the last would assist 
the Norman to the English throne. 

At heart, however, Tostig was ill satisfied. His chance 


\ 


HAROLD 


329 


conversations with the principle barons, who seemed to look 
upon the conquest of England as the dream of a madman, 
showed him how doubtful it was that William could induce 
his Quens to a service, to which the tenure of their fiefs did 
not appear to compel them ; and at all events, Tostig 
prognosticated delays, that little suited his fiery impatience. 
He accepted the ofter of two or three ships, which William 
put at his disposal, under pretence to reconnoitre the 
Northumbrian coasts, and there attempt a rising in his 
own favour. But his discontent was increased by the 
smallness of the aid afforded him ; for William, ever 
suspicious, distrusted both his faith and his power. Tostig, 
with all his vices, was a poor dissimulator, and his sullen 
spirit betrayed itself when he took leave of his host. 

^Chance what may,’ said the fierce Saxon, ^no stranger 
shall seize the English crown without my aid. I offer it 
first to thee. But thou must come to take it in time, 
or ’ 

^ Or what ? ’ asked the Duke, gnawing his lip. 

^ Or the Father race of Rou will be before thee ! My 
horse paws without. Farewell to thee, Norman ; sharpen 
thy swords, hew out thy vessels, and goad thy slow barons. ’ 

Scarce had Tostig departed, ere William began to repent 
that he had so let him depart : but seeking counsel of 
Lanfranc, that wise minister reassured him. 

‘^Fear no rival, son and lord,’ said he. ^The bones of 
the dead are on thy side, and little thou knowest, as yet, 
how mighty their fleshless arms ! All Tostig can do is to 
distract the forces of Harold. Leave him to work out his 
worst ; nor then be in haste. Much hath yet to be done — 
cloud must gather and fire must form, ere the bolt can be 
launched. Send to Harold mildly, and gently remind him 
of oath and of relics — of treaty and pledge. Put right on 
thy side, and then ’ 

^ Ah, what then ? ’ 

‘ Rome shall curse the forsworn — Rome shall hallow thy 
banner ; this be no strife of force against force, but a war of 
religion ; and thou shalt have on thy side the conscience of 
man, and the arm of the Church.’ 

Meanwhile, Tostig embarked at Harfleur ; but instead of 
sailing to the northern coasts of England, he made for one 
of the Flemish ports : and there, under various pretences, 
new manned the Norman vessels with Flemings, Fins, and 
Northmen. His meditations during his voyage had decided 
him not to trust to William ; and he now bent his course, 
with fair wind and favouring weather, to the shores of his 
maternal uncle. King Sweyn of Denmark. 


/ 

i 


m ' HAROLD 

111 truth, to ail probable calculation, his change of pur- 
pose was politic. The fleets of England were numerous, 
and her seamen renowned. ITie Normans had neither 
experience nor fame in naval fights ; their navy itself was 
scarcely formed. ITius, even William’s landing in England 
was an enterprise arduous and dubious. Moreover, even 
granting the amplest success, would not this Norman Prince, 
so profound and ambitious, be a more troublesome lord to 
Earl Tostig than his own uncle Sweyn ? 

So, forgetful of the compact at Rouen, no sooner had the 
Saxon lord come in presence of the King of the Danes, than 
lie urged on his kinsman the glory of winning again the 
sceptre of Canute. 

A brave, but a cautious and wily veteran, was King 
Sweyn ; and a few days before Tostig arrived, he had 
received letters from his sister Githa, who, true to Godwin’s 
command, had held all that Harold did and counselled, as 
between himself and his brother, wise and just. These 
letters had placed the Dane on his guard, and shown him 
the true state of affairs in England. So King Sweyn, 
smiling, thus answered his nephew Tostig : — 

^ A great man was Canute, a small man am I : scarce 
can I keep my Danish dominion from the gripe of the 
Norwegian, while Canute took Norway without slash and 
blow ; but great as he was, England cost him hard fighting 
to win, and sore peril to keep. Wherefore, best for the 
small man to rule by the light of his own little sense, nor 
venture to count on the luck of great Canute ; — for luck 
but goes with the great.’ 

'Thine answer,’ said Tostig, with a bitter sneer, 'is not 
what I expected from an uncle and warrior. But other 
chiefs may be found less afraid of the luck of high deeds. ’ 

'So,’ saith the Norwegian chronicler, 'not just the best 
friends, the Earl left the King,’ and went on in haste to 
Harold Hardrada of Norway. 

True Hero of the North, true darling of war and of 
Song, was Harold Hardrada ! At the terrible battle of 
Stiklestad, at which his brother, St. Olave, had fallen, he 
was but fifteen years of age, but his body was covered with 
the wounds of a veteran. Escaping from the field, he lay 
concealed in the house of a Bonder peasant, remote in deep 
forests, till his wounds were healed. Thence, chanting by 
the way (for a poet’s soul burned bright in Hardrada), 
'That a day would come when his name would be great 
in the land he now left,’ he went on into Sweden, thence 
into Russia, and after wild adventures in the East, joined, 
with the bold troop he had collected around him, that 


HAROLD 


a3i 

famous body-guard of tlie Greek emperors, called the 
Vseringers, and of these he became the chief. Jealousies 
between himself and the Greek General of the Imperial 
forces (whom the Norwegian chronicler calls Gyrger), 
ended in Harold’s retirement with his Vaeringers into the 
Saracen land of Africa. Eighty castles stormed and taken, 
vast plunder in gold and in jewels, and nobler meed in the 
song of the Scald, and the praise of the brave, attested the 
prowess of the great Scandinavian. New laurels, blood- 
stained, new treasures, sword-won, awaited him in Sicily ; 
and thence, rough foretype of the coming crusader, he 
passed on to Jerusalem. His sword swept before him 
Moslem and robber. He bathed in Jordan, and knelt at 
the Holy Cross. 

Returned to Constantinople, the desire for his northern 
home seized Hardrada. There he heard that his nephew 
Magnus, the illegitimate son of St. Olave, had become king 
of Norway, — and he himself aspired to a throne. So he 
gave up his command under Zoe the empress ; but, if Scald 
be believed, Zoe the empress loved the bold chief, whose 
heart was set on Maria her niece. To detain Hardrada, a 
charge of mal-appropriation, whether of pay or of booty, 
was brought against him. He was cast into prison. But 
when the brave are in danger, the saints send the fair to 
their help ! Moved by a holy dream, a Greek lady lowered 
ropes from the roof of the tower to the dungeon wherein 
Hardrada was cast. He escaped from the prison, he aroused 
his Vaeringers, they flocked round their chief ; he went to 
the house of his lady Maria, bore her oft’ to the galley, put 
out into the Black Sea, reached Novgorod (at the friendly 
court of whose king he had safely lodged his vast spoils), 
sailed home to the north : and, after such feats as became 
sea-king of old, received half of Norway from Magnus, 
and on the death of his nephew the whole of that kingdom 
passed to his sway. A king so wise and so wealthy, so bold 
and so dread, had never yet been known in the north. And 
this was the king to whom came Tostig the Earl, with the 
offer of England’s crown. 

It was one of the glorious nights of the north, and winter 
had already begun to melt into early spring, when two men 
sate under a kind of rustic porch of rough pine-logs, not very 
unlike those seen now in Switzerland and the Tyrol. ’This 

f )orch was constructed before a private door, to the rear of a 
ong, low, irregular building of wood which enclosed two or 
more courtyards, and covering an immense space of ground, 
’fhis private door seemed placed for the purpose of immediate 
descent to the sea ; for the ledge of the rock over which the 


332 


PI A’ROLD 


log-porcli spread its rude roof, jutted over the ocean; and 
from it a rugged stair, cut through the crag, descended to 
the beach. The shore, with bold, strange, grotesque slab, 
and peak, and splinter, curved into a large creek ; and close 
under the cliff were moored seven war-ships, high and tall, 
with prows and sterns all gorgeous with gilding in the light 
of the splendid moon. And that rude timber house, which 
seemed but a chain of barbarian huts linked into one, was 
a land palace of Hardrada of Norway ; but the true halls of 
his royalty, the true seats of his empire, were the decks of 
those lofty war-ships. 

Through the small lattice-work of the windows of the 
log-house, lights blazed ; from the roof-top smoke curled ; 
from the hall on the other side of the dwelling, came the 
din of tumultuous wassail, but the intense stillness of the 
outer air, hushed in frost, and luminous with stars, con- 
trasted and seemed to rebuke the gross sounds of human 
revel. And that northern night seemed ^almost as bright as 
(but how much more augustly calm, than) the noon of the 
golden south ! 

On a table within the ample porch was an immense bowl 
of birchwood, mounted in silver, and filled with potent 
drink, and two huge horns, of size suiting the mighty 
wassailers of the age. The two men seemed to care nought 
for the stern air of the cold night — true that they were 
wrapped in furs reft from the Polar bear. But each had 
hot thoughts within, that gave greater warmth to the veins 
than the bowl or the bearskin. 

They were host and guest ; and as if with the restlessness 
of his thoughts, the host arose from his seat, and passed 
through the porch and stood on the bleak rock under the 
light of the moon ; and so seen, he seemed scarcely human, 
but some war-chief of the farthest time, — yea, of a time ere 
the deluge had shivered those rocks, and left beds on the 
land for the realm of that icy sea. For Harold Hardrada 
was in height above all the children of modern men. Five 
ells of Norway made the height of Harold Hardrada. Nor 
was this stature accompanied by any of those imperfections 
in symmetry, nor by that heaviness of aspect, which generally 
render any remarkable excess above human stature and 
strength rather monstrous than commanding. On the 
contrary, his proportions were just ; his appearance noble ; 
and the sole defect that the chronicler remarks in his shape, 
was ^ that his hands and feet were large, but these w^ere well 
made. ’ 

His face had all the fair beauty of the Norseman ; his 
hair, parted in locks of gold over a brow that bespoke the 


J 


HAROLD 333 

daring of the warrior and the genius of the bard, fell in 
glittering profusion to his shoulders ; a short beard and long 
moustache of the same colour as th^ hair, carefully trimmed, 
added to the grand and masculine beauty of the countenance, 
in which the only blemish was the peculiarity of one eyebrow 
being somewhat higher than the other, which gave some- 
thing more sinister to his frown, something more arch to his 
smile. For, quick of impulse, the Poet-Titan smiled and 
frowned often. 

Harold Hardrada stood in the light of the moon, and 
gazing thoughtfully on the luminous sea. Tostig marked 
him for some moments where he sate in the porch, and then 
rose and joined him. 

^Why should my words so disturb thee, O king of the 
Norsemen } * 

^ Is glory, then, a drug that soothes to sleep ’ returned 
the Norwegian. 

like thine answer,’ said Tostig, smiling, ^and I like 
still more to watch thine eye gazing on the prows of thy 
war-ships. Strange indeed it were if thou, who hast been 
fighting fifteen years for the petty kingdom of Denmark, 
shouldst hesitate now, when all England lies before thee to 
seize.’ 

hesitate,’ replied the King, ^because he whom Fortune 
has befriended so long, should beware how he strain her 
favours too far. Eighteen pitched battles fought I in the 
Saracen land, and in every one was a victor — never, at home 
or abroad, have I known shame and defeat. Doth the wind 
always blow from one point — and is Fate less unstable than 
the wind } ’ 

‘^Now, out on thee, Harold Hardrada,’ said Tostig the 
fierce ; ^ the good pilot wins his way through all winds, and 
the brave heart fastens fate to its flag. All men allow that 
the North never had warrior like thee ; and now, in the 
mid-day of manhood, wilt thou consent to repose on the 
mere triumph of youth } ’ 

Nay,’ said the King, who, like all true poets, had some- 
thing of the deep sense of a sage, and was, indeed, regarded 
as the most prudent as well as the most adventurous chief in 
the North land, — ^nay, it is not by such words, which my 
soul seconds too well, that thou canst entrap a ruler of men. 
Thou must show me the chances of success, as thou wouldst 
to a grey-beard. For we should be as old men before we 
engage, and as youths when we wish to perform.’ 

Then the traitor succinctly detailed all the weak points 
in the rule of his brother. A treasury exhausted by the 
lavish and profitless waste of Edward ; a land without castle 


334 


HAROLD 


or bulwark, even at the mouths of the rivers ; a people 
grown inert by long peace, and so accustomed to own lord 
and king in the northern invaders, that a single successful 
battle might induce half the population to insist on the 
Saxon coming to terms with the foe, and yielding, as 
Ironside did to Canute, one-half of the realm. He enlarged 
on the terror of the Norsemen that still existed throughout 
England, and the affinity between the Northumbrians and 
East Anglians with the race of Hardrada. That affinity 
would not prevent them from resisting at the first ; but grant 
success, and it would reconcile them to the after sway. 
And, finally, he aroused Hardrada’s emulation by the spur 
of the news, that the Count of the Normans would seize the 
prize if he himself delayed to forestall him. 

Tliese various representations, and the remembrance of 
Canute’s victory, decided Hardrada ; and, when Tostig 
ceased, he stretched his hand towards his slumbering war- 
ships, and exclaimed : 

^ Eno’ ; you have whetted the beaks of the ravens, and ^ 
harnessed the steeds of the sea ! ’ 


CHAPTER VII 

Meanwhile, King Harold of England had made himself dear 
to his people, and been true to the fame he had won as 
Harold the Earl. From the moment of his accession, ‘^he 
showed himself pious, humble, and alFable, and omitted no 
• occasions to show any token of bounteous liberality, gentle- 

ness, and courteous behaviour.’ — ^The grievous customs 
also, and taxes which his predecessors had raised, he either 
^ abolished or diminished ; the ordinary wages of his servants 
and men-of-war he increased, and further showed himself 
very well bent to all virtue and goodness.’ 

Extracting the pith from these eulogies, it is clear that, 
as wise statesman no less than good king, Harold sought 
to strengthen himself in the three great elements of regal 
power; — Conciliation of the Church, which had been 
opposed to his father ; The popular affection, on which his 
sole claim to the crown reposed ; And the military force of 
the land, which had been neglected in the reign of his 
peaceful predecessor. 

To the young Atheling he accorded a respect not before 
paid to him; and, while investing the descendant of the 
ancient line with princely state, and endowing him with 


HAROLD 


335 


large domains, his soul, too great for jealousy, sought to 
give more substantial power to his own most legitimate 
rival, by tender care and noble counsels, — by efforts to 
raise a character feeble by nature, and denationalised by 
foreign rearing. In the same broad and generous policy, 
Harold encouraged all the merchants from other countries 
who had settled in England, nor were even such Normans 
as had escaped the general sentence of banishment on 
Godwin’s return, disturbed in their possessions. ^ In brief,’ 
saith the Anglo-Norman chronicler, ‘ no man was more 
prudent in the land, more valiant in arms, in the law 
more sagacious, in all probity more accomplished ’ : and 
^ Ever active,’ says more mournfully the Saxon writer, 
‘ for the good of his country, he spared himself no fatigue 
by land or by sea.’ 

From this time, Harold’s private life ceased. Love and 
its charms were no more. The glow of romance had 
vanished. He was not one man ; he was the state, the 
representative, the incarnation of Saxon England : his 
sway and the Saxon freedom, to live or fall together ! 

The soul really grand is only tested in its errors. As we 
know the true might of the intellect by the rich resources 
and patient strength with which it redeems a failure, so do 
we prove the elevation of the soul by its courageous return 
into light, its instinctive rebound into higher air, after some 
error that has darkened its vision and soiled its plumes. A 
spirit less noble and pure than Harold’s, once entering on 
the dismal world of enchanted superstition, had habituated 
itself to that nether atmosphere ; once misled from hardy 
truth and healthful reason, it had plunged deeper and deeper 
into the maze. But, unlike his contemporary, Macbeth, the 
Man escaped from the lures of the Fiend. Not as Hecate in 
hell, but as Dian in heaven, did he confront the pale Goddess 
of Night. Before that hour in which he had deserted the 
human judgment for the ghostly delusion ; before that day 
in which the brave heart, in its sudden desertion, had 
humbled his pride — the man, in his nature, was more strong 
than the god. Now, purified by the flame that had scorched, 
and more nerved from the fall that had stunned, — that 
great soul rose sublime through the wrecks of the Past, 
serene through the clouds of the Future, concentrating in 
its solitude the destinies of Mankind, and strong with 
instinctive Eternity amidst all the terrors of time. 

King Harold came from York, whither he had gone to 
cement the new power of Morcar, in Northumbria, and 
personally to confirm the allegiance of the Anglo-Danes : — 
King Harold came from York, and in the halls of W estminster 


336 HAROLD 

he found a monk who awaited him with the messages of 
William the Norman. 

Bare-footed^ and serge-garbed, the Norman envoy strode 
to the Saxon’s chair of state. His form was worn with 
mortification and fast, and his face was hueless and livid, 
with the perpetual struggle between zeal and the flesh. 

^Thus saith William, Count of the Normans,’ began 
Hugues Maigrot, the monk. 

‘ With grief and amaze hath he heard that you, O Harold, 
his sworn liege-man, have, contrary to oath and to fealty, 
assumed the crown that belongs to himself. But, confiding 
in thy conscience, and forgiving a moment’s weakness, he 
summons thee, mildly and brother-like, to fulfil thy vow. 
Send thy sister, that he may give her in marriage to one of 
his Quens. Give him up the stronghold of Dover ; march 
to thy coast with thine armies to aid him, — thy liege lord, — 
and secure him the heritage of Edward his cousin. And 
thou shalt reign at his right hand, his daughter thy bride, 
Northumbria thy fief, and the saints thy protectors.’ 

The King’s lip was firm, though pale, as he answered : — 

‘ My young sister, alas ! is no more : seven nights after 
I ascended the throne, she died : her dust in the grave is 
all 1 could send to the arms of the bridegroom. I cannot 
wed the child of thy Count : the wife of Harold sits beside 
him.’ And he pointed to the proud beauty of Aldyth, 
enthroned under the drapery of gold. ^For the vow that 
I took, I deny it not. But from a vow of compulsion, 
menaced with unworthy captivity, extorted from my lips 
by the very need of the land whose freedom had been 
bound in my chains — from a vow so compelled. Church 
and conscience absolve me. If the vow of a maiden on 
whom to bestow but her hand, when unknown to her 
parents, is judged invalid by the Church, how much more 
invalid the oath that would bestow on a stranger the fates 
of a nation, against its knowledge, and uncoiisulting its 
laws ! This royalty of England hath ever rested on the 
will of the people, declared through its chiefs in their 
solemn assembly. They alone who could bestow it, have 
bestowed it on me : — I have no power to resign it to 
another — and were I in my grave, the trust of the crown 
would not pass to the Norman, but return to the Saxon 
people.’ 

^Is this, then, thy answer, unhappy son.^’ said the 
monk, with a sullen and gloomy aspect. 

^ Such is my answer. ’ 

'Then, sorrowing for thee, I utter the words of William. 
"With sword and with mail will he come to punish the 


HAROLD _ 337 

perjurer : and by the aid of St. Michael^ archangel of war, 
he will conquer his own.” Amen !’ 

^ By sea and by land, wdth sword and with mail, will we 
meet the invader,’ answered the King, with a flashing eye. 
' Thou hast said : — so depart. ’ 

llie monk turned and withdrew. 

‘ Let the priest’s insolence chafe thee not, sweet lord,’ 
said Aldyth. ^For the vow which thou mightest take as 
subject, M'hat matters it now thou art king.^’ 

Harold made no answer to Aldyth, but turned to his 
Chamberlain, who stood behind his throne chair. 

‘ Are my brothers without ? ’ 

^ They are ; and my lord the King’s chosen council. ’ 

^ Admit them : pardon, Aldyth ; affairs fit only for men 
claim me now.’ 

Tlie Lady of England took the hint, and rose. 

^ But the even-mete will summon thee soon,’ said she. 

Harold, who had already descended from his chair of 
state, and was bending over a casket of papers on the 
table, replied — 

^ There is food here till the morrow ; wait me not.’ 

Aldyth sighed, and withdrew at the one door, while the 
thegns most in Harold’s confidence, entered at the other. 
But, once surrounded by her maidens, Aldyth forgot all, 
save that she was again a queen — forgot all, even to the 
earlier and less gorgeous diadem which her lord’s hand had 
shattered on the brows of the son of Pendragon. 

Leofwine, still gay and blithe-hearted, entered first : 
Gurth followed, then Haco, then some half score of the 
greater thegns. 

They seated themselves at the table, and Gurth spoke 
first — 

^Tostig has been with Count William.’ 

‘1 know it,’ said Harold. 

^It is rumoured that he has passed to our uncle Sweyn.’ 

‘ I foresaw it,’ said the King. 

^And that Sweyn will aid him to reconquer England 
for the Dane.’ 

‘ My bode reached Sweyn, with letters from Githa, 
before Tostig ; my bode has returned this day. Sweyn 
has dismissed Tostig: Sweyn will send fifty ships, armed 
with picked men, to the aid of England.’ 

^Brother,’ cried Leofwine, admiringly, ^thou providest 
against danger ere we but surmise it.’ 

^Tostig,’ continued the King, unheeding the compliment, 
^ will be the first assailant : him we must meet. His fast 
friend is Malcolm of Scotland : him we must secure. Go 

Y 


338 


HARO HD 

thou^ Leofwiiie, with these letters to Malcolm.— "riie next 
fear is from the Welch. Go thou, Edwin of Mercia, to 
the princes of Wales. On thy way, strengthen the forts 
and deepen the dykes of the marches. These tablets hold 
thy instructions. The Norman, as doubtless ye know, my 
thegns, hath sent to demand our crown, and hath announced 
the coming of his war. With the dawn I depart to our port 
at Sandwich, to muster our fleets. Thou wuth me, Gurth.’ 

^ These preparations need much treasure,’ said an old 
thegn, ^and thou hast lessened the taxes at the hour of 
need. ’ 

^Not yet is it the hour of need. AThen it comes, our 
people Mull the more readily meet it with their gold as 
with their iron. There was great M^ealth in the house of 
Godwin ; that wealth mans the ships of England. What 
hast thou there, Haco ? ’ 

‘ Thy new-issued coin : it hath on its reverse the w’ord 

Peace.’” 

Who ever saw one of those coins of the Last Saxon ' 
King, the bold simple head on the one side, that single 
word ^ Peace’ on the other, and did not feel awed and 
touched ! What pathos in that word compared with the 
fate which it failed to propitiate ! 

^ Peace,’ said Harold : ^ to all that doth not render peace, 
slavery. Yea, may I live to leave peace to our children ! 
Now, peace only rests on our preparation for war. You, 
Morcar, will return with all speed to York, and look well 
to the mouth of the Humber.’ 

Then, turning to each of the thegns successively, he gave 
to each his post and his duty ; and that done, converse 
grew more general. The many things needful that had 
been long rotting in neglect under the Monk-king, and 
now sprung up, craving instant reform, occupied them 
long and anxiously. But cheered and inspirited by the 
vigour and foresight of Harold, whose earlier slowness of 
character seemed winged by the occasion into rapid decision 
(as is not uncommon with the Englishman), all difficulties 
seemed light, and hope and courage w^re in every breast. 


CHAPTER VIII 

Back went Hugues Maigrot, the monk, to William, and 
told the reply of Harold to the Duke, in the presence of 
Lanfranc. William himself heard it in gloomy silence, for 


HAROLD 


339 


Fitzosborne as yet had been wholly unsuccessful in stirring 
up the Norman barons to an expedition so hazardous^ in a 
cause so doubtful ; and though prepared for the defiance of 
Harold, the Duke was not prepared with the means to 
enforce his threats and make good his claim. 

So great was his abstraction, that he suffered the Lombard 
to dismiss the monk without a word spoken by him ; and 
he was first startled from his reverie by Lanfranc’s pale 
hand on his vast shoulder, and Lanfranc’s low voice in his 
dreamy ear — 

^ Up ! Hero of Europe : for thy cause is won ! Up ! 
and write with thy bold characters, bold as if graved with 
the point of the sword, my credentials to Rome. Let me 
depart ere the sun sets : and as I go, look on the sinking 
orb, and behold the sun of the Saxon that sets evermore 
on England ! ’ 

Then briefly, that ablest statesman of the age (and 
forgive him, despite our modern lights, we must; for, 
sincere son of the Church, he regarded the violated oath of 
Harold as entailing the legitimate forfeiture of his realm, 
and, ignorant of true political freedom, looked upon Church 
and Learning as the only civilisers of men), then, briefly, 
Lanfranc detailed to the listening Norman, the outline of 
the arguments by which he intended to move the Pontifical 
court to the Norman side ; and enlarged upon the vast 
accession throughout all Europe which the solemn sanction 
of the Church would bring to his strength. William’s 
reawakening and ready intellect soon seized upon the im- 
portance of the object pressed upon him. He interrupted 
the Lombard, drew pen and parchment towards him, and 
wrote rapidly. Horses were harnessed, horsemen equipped 
in haste, and with no unfitting retinue Lanfranc departed 
on the mission, the most important in its consequences that 
ever passed from potentate to pontiff. Rebraced to its 
purpose by Lanfranc’s cheering assurances, the resolute, 
indomitable soul of William now applied itself, night and 
day, to the difficult task of rousing his haughty vavasours. 
Yet weeks passed before he could even meet a select council 
composed of his own kinsmen and most trusted lords. 
'These, however, privately won over, promised to serve him 
‘with body and goods.’ But one and all they told him, 
he must gain the consent of the whole principality in a 
general council. That council was convened : thither came 
not only lords and knights, but merchants and traders — 
all the rising middle class of a thriving state. 

The Duke bared his wrongs, his claims, and his schemes. 
The assembly would not or did uot discuss the matter in 


340 


HAROLD 


liis presence, they would not be awed by its induence ; and 
'William retired from the ball. Various were the opinions, 
stormy the debate ; and so great the disorder grew, that 
Fitzosborne, rising in the midst, exclaimed — 

^Why this dispute.^ — why this unduteous discord.^ Is 
not 'William your lord.^^ Hath he not need of you.^ Fail 
him now — and, you know him well — by G — he will re- 
member it ! Aid him — and you know him well — large are 
his rewards to service and love ! ’ 

Up rose at once baron and merchant ; and when at last 
their spokesman was chosen, that spokesman said — 

^William is our lord ; is it not enough to pay to our lord 
his dues ? No aid do we owe beyond the seas ! Sore 
harassed and taxed are we already by his wars ! Let him 
fail in this strange and unparalleled hazard, and our land 
is undone ! ’ 

Loud applause followed this speech ; the majority of the 
council were against the Duke. 

^Then,’ said Fitzosborne, craftily, ^I, who know the 
means of each man present, will, with your leave, represent 
your necessities to your Count, and make such modest offer 
of assistance as may please ye, yet not chafe your liege.’ 

Into the trap of this proposal the opponents fell ; and 
Fitzosborne, at the head of the body, returned to William. 

The Lord of Breteul approached the dais, on which 
William sate alone, his great sword in his hand, and thus 
spoke — 

^My liege, I may well say that never prince had people 
more leal than yours, nor that have more proved their faith 
and love by the burdens they have borne and the moneys 
they have granted.’ 

A universal murmur of applause followed these words. 

^ Good ! good ! ’ almost shouted the merchants especially. 
William’s brows met, and he looked very terrible. The 
lord of Breteul gracefully waved his hand, and resumed — 

^Yea, my liege, much have they borne for your glory 
and need : much more will they bear.’ 

The faces of the audience fell. 

^ Their service does not compel them to aid you beyond 
the seas.’ 

The faces of the audience brightened. 

^ But now they will aid you, in the land of the Saxon as 
in that of the Frank.’ 

‘ How cried a stray voice or two. 

^Hush, O gentilz amys ! Forward, then, O my liege, and 
spare them in nought. He who has hitherto supplied you 
with two good mounted soldiers, will now grant you four ; 
and he who ’ 


HAROLD - 


341 


' No^ no, no ! * roared two-thirds of the assembly ; ‘ we 
charged you with no such answer; we said not that, nor 
that shall it be ! ' 

Out stepped a baron. 

^Within this country, to defend it, we will serve our 
Count ; but to aid him to conquer another man’s country, 
no !’ 

Out stepped a knight. 

‘ If once we rendered this double service, beyond seas as 
at home, it would be held a right and a custom hereafter ; 
and we should be as mercenary soldiers, not free-born 
Normans.’ 

Out stepped a merchant. 

^And we and our children would be burdened for ever 
to feed one man’s ambition, whenever he saw a king to 
dethrone, or a realm to seize.’ 

And then cried a general chorus — 

^ It shall not be — it shall not ! ’ 

The assembly broke at once into knots of tens, twenties, 
thirties, gesticulating and speaking aloud, like freemen in 
anger. And ere William, with all his prompt dissimulation, 
could do more than smother his rage, and sit griping his 
sword-hilt, and setting his teeth, the assembly dispersed. 

Such were the free souls of the Normans under the 
greatest of their chiefs ; and had those souls been less free, 
England had not been enslaved in one age, to become free 
again, God grant, to the end of time ! 


CHAPTER IX 

Through the blue skies over England there rushed the 
bright stranger — a meteor, a comet, a fiery star ! ^ such 
as no man before ever saw ’ ; it appeared on the 8th, 
before the kalends of May ; seven nights did it shine, 
and the faces of sleepless men were pale under the angry 
glare. 

The river of Thames rushed blood-red in the beam, the 
winds at play on the broad waves of the Humber, broke 
the surge of the billows into sparkles of fire. With three 
streamers, sharp and long as the sting of a dragon, the 
foreboder of wrath rushed through the hosts of the stars. 
On every ruinous fort, by sea-coast and march, the warder 
crossed his breast to behold it ; on hill and in thorough- 
fare, crowds nightly assembled to gaze on the terrible star. 


342 


HAROLD 


Muttering hymns^ monks huddled together round the altars, 
as if to exorcise the land of a demon. The gravestone of 
the Saxon father-chief was lit up, as with the coil of the 
lightning ; and the Morthwyrtha looked from the mound, 
and saw in her visions of awe the Valkyrs in the train of 
the fiery star. 

On the roof of his palace stood Harold the King, and 
with folded arms he looked on the Rider of Night. And 
up the stairs of the turret came the soft steps of Haco, and 
stealing near to the King, he said — 

^Arm in haste, for the bodes have come breathless to 
tell thee that Tostig, thy brother, with pirate and war-ship, 
is wasting thy shores and slaughtering thy people ! ’ 


CHAPTER X 

Tostig, with the ships he had gained both from Norman l 
and Norwegian, recruited by Flemish adventurers, fled fast ’ 
from the banners of Harold. After plundering the Isle of 
Wight, and the Hampshire coasts, he sailed up the Humber, 
where his vain heart had counted on friends yet left him 
in his ancient earldom ; but Harold’s soul of vigour was 
everywhere. Morcar, prepared by the King’s bodes, en- 
countered and chased the traitor, and, deserted by most 
of his ships, with but twelve small craft Tostig gained the 
shores of Scotland. There, again forestalled by the Saxon 
king, he failed in succour from Malcolm, and retreating to 
the Orkneys, waited the fleets of Hardrada. 

And now Harold, thus at freedom for defence against a 
foe more formidable and less unnatural, hastened to make 
secure both the sea and the coast against William the 
Norman. ^ So great a ship force, so great a land force, no 
king in the land had before.’ All the summer, his fleets 
swept the channel ; his forces ‘ lay everywhere by the 
sea.’ 

But alas ! now came the time when the improvident 
waste of Edward began to be felt. Provisions and pay for 
the armaments failed. On the defective resources at 
Harold’s disposal, no modern historian hath sufficiently 
dwelt. The last Saxon king, the chosen of the people, had 
not those levies, and could impose not those burdens, which 
made his successors mighty in war ; and men began now to 
think that, after all, there was no fear of this Norman 
invasion, llie summer was gone ; the autumn was come ; 


HAROLD ' 


.343 


was it likely that William would dare to trust himself in 
an enemy’s country as the winter drew near ? The Saxons 
— unlike ^ their fiercer kindred of Scandinavia, had no 
pleasure in war ; — they fought well in front of a foe, but 
they loathed the tedious preparations and costly sacrifices 
which prudence demanded for self-defence. They now 
revolted from a strain upon their energies, of the necessity 
of which they were not convinced ! Joyous at the tempo- 
rary defeat of Tostig, men said, ^ Marry, a joke indeed, that 
the Norman will put his shaven head into the hornet’s nest ! 
Let him come, if he dare ! ’ 

Still, with desperate effort, and at much risk of popularity, 
Harold held together a force sufficient to repel any single 
invader. From the time of his accession his sleepless 
vigilance had kept watch on the Norman, and his spies 
brought him news of all that passed. 

And now what had passed in the councils of William? 
The abrupt disappointment which the Grand Assembly had 
occasioned him did not last very long. Made aware that 
he could not trust to the spirit of an assembly, William now 
artfully summoned merchant, and knight, and baron, one 
by one. Submitted to the eloquence, the promises, the 
craft, of that master intellect, and to the awe of that impos- 
ing presence ; unassisted by the courage which inferiors ’ 
take from numbers, one by one yielded to the will of the 
Count, and subscribed his quota for moneys, for ships, and 
for men. And while this went on, Lanfranc was at work 
in the Vatican. At that time the Archdeacon of the Roman 
Church was the famous Hildebrand. This extraordinary 
man, fit fellow-spirit to Lanfranc, nursed one darling pro- 
ject, the success of which indeed founded the true temporal 
power of the Roman pontiffs. It was no less than that of 
converting the mere religious ascendency of the Holy See 
into the actual sovereignty over the states of Christendom. 
The most immediate agents of this gigantic scheme were 
the Normans, who had conquered Naples by the arm of the 
adventurer Robert Guiscard, and under the gonfanon of 
St. Peter. Most of the new Norman countships and duke- 
doms thus created in Italy had declared themselves fiefs of 
the Church ; and the successor of the Apostle might well 
hope, by aid of the Norman priest-knights, to extend his 
sovereignty over Italy, and thence dictate to the kings 
beyond the Alps. 

The aid of Hildebrand in behalf of William’s claims was 
obtained at once by Lanfranc. The profound Archdeacon 
of Rome saw at a glance the immense power that would 
accrue to the Church by the mere act of arrogating to itself 


344 


HAROLD 


the disposition of crowns, subjecting rival princes to abide 
by its decision, and fixing the men of its choice on the 
tlirones of the North. Despite all its slavish superstition, 
the Saxon Church was obnoxious to Rome. Even the pious 
Edward had offended, by withholding the old levy of Peter 
Pence ; and simony, a crime peculiarly reprobated by the 
pontiff, was notorious in England. TTierefore there was 
much to aid Hildebrand in the Assembly of the Cardinals, 
when he brought before them the oath of Harold, the viola- 
tion of the sacred relics, and demanded that the pious Nor- 
mans, true friends to the Roman Church, should be permitted 
to Christianise the barbarous Saxons, and William be nomi- 
nated as heir to a throne promised to him by Edward, and 
forfeited by the perjury of Harold. Nevertheless, to the 
honour of that assembly, and of man, there was a holy 
opposition to this wholesale barter of human rights — this 
sanction of an armed onslaught on a Christian people. ^ It 
is infamous,’ said the good, ^to authorise homicide.’ But 
Hildebrand was all-powerful and prevailed. 

William was at high feast with his barons when Lanfranc 
dismounted at his gates and entered his hall. 

^ Hail to thee. King of England ! ’ he said. ^ I bring the 
bull that excommunicates Harold and his adherents ; I bring 
to thee the gift of the Roman Church, the land and royalty 
of England. I bring to thee the gonfanon hallowed by the 
heir of the Apostle, and the very ring that contains the 
precious relic of the Apostle himself ! Now who will shrink 
from thy side ? Publish thy ban, not in Normandy alone, 
but in every region and realm where the Church is honoured. 
This is the first war of the Cross.’ 

Then indeed was it seen — that might of the Church ! 
Soon as were made known the sanction and gifts of the 
Pope, all the Continent stirred as to the blast of the trump 
in the Crusade, of which that war was the herald. From 
Maine and from Anjou, from Poitou and Bretagne, from 
France and from Flanders, from Aquitaine and Burgundy, 
flashed the spear, galloped the steed. The robber-chiefs 
from the castles now grey on the Rhine ; the hunters and 
bandits from the roots of the Alps ; baron and knight, varlet 
and vagrant — all came to the flag of the Church — to the 
pillage of England. For side by side with the Pope’s holy 
bull was the martial ban : — ^ Good pay and broad lands to 
every one who will serve Count William with spear, and 
with sword, and with cross-bow.’ And the Duke said to 
Fitzosborne, as he parcelled out the fair fields of England 
into Norman fiefs — 

^Harold hath not the strength of mind to promise the 


HAROLD 


345 


least of those things that belong to me. But I have the 
right to promise that which is mine, and also that which 
belongs to him. He must be the victor who can give away 
both his own and what belongs to his foe.’ 

All on the Continent of Europe regarded England’s king 
as accursed — William’s enterprise as holy ; and mothers who 
had turned pale when their sons went forth to the boar- 
chase, sent their darlings to enter their names, for the weal 
of their souls, in the swollen muster-roll of William the 
Norman. Every port now in Neustria was busy with terrible 
life ; in every wood was heard the axe felling logs for the 
ships ; from every anvil flew the sparks from the hammer, 
as iron took shape into helmet and sword. All things 
seemed to favour the Church’s chosen one. Conan, Count 
of Bretagne, sent to claim the Duchy of Normandy, as 
legitimate heir. A few days afterwards, Conan died, 
poisoned (as had died his father before him) by the mouth 
of his horn and the web of his gloves. And the new Count 
of Bretagne sent his sons to take part against Harold. 

All the armament mustered at the roadstead of St. 
Valery, at the mouth of the Somme. But the winds were 
long hostile, and the rains fell in torrents. 


CHAPTER XI 

And now, while war thus hungered for England at the mouth 
of the Somme, the last and most renowned of the sea-kings, 
Harold Hardrada, entered his galley, the tallest and strongest 
of a fleet of three hundred sail, that peopled the seas round 
Solundir. And a man named Gyrdir, on board the King’s 
ship dreamed a dream. He saw a great witch-wife standing 
on an isle of the Sulen, with a fork in one hand and a trough 
in the other. He saw her pass over the whole fleet ; — by 
each of the three hundred ships he saw her ; and a fowl sat 
on the stern of each ship, and that fowl was a raven ; and 
he heard the witch-wife sing this song : — 

‘ From the East I allure him, 

At the West I secure him ; 

In the feast I foresee 
Rare the relics for me ; 

Red the drink, white the bones. 

‘ The ravens sit greeding. 

And watching, and heeding ; 


340 


HAROLD 


Thoro’ wind, over water, 

Comes scent of the slaughter, 

And ravens sit greeding 
Their share of the bones. 

‘ Thoro’ wind, thoro’ weather. 

We’re sailing together ; 

I sail with the ravens ; 

I watch with the ravens ; 

I snatch from the ravens 
My share of the bones.’ 

There was also a man called Tliord, in a ship that lay near 
the King’s ; and he too dreamed a dream. He saw the fleet 
nearing land, and that land was England. And on the land 
was a battle array tw^ofold, and many banners were flapping 
on both sides. And before the army of the land-folk was 
riding a huge witch-wife upon a wolf ; the wolf had a man’s 
carcase in his mouth, and the blood was dripping and drop- 
ping from his jaws ; and when the wolf had eaten up that 
carcase, the witch-wife threw another into his jaws ; and so, 
one after another ; and the w’olf crunched and swallowed 
them all. And the witch-wife sang this song : — 

‘ The green waving fields 
Are hidden behind 
The flash of the shields. 

And the rush of the banners 
That toss in the wind. 

, ‘ But Shade’s eagle eyes 

Pierce the wall of the steel. 

And behold from the skies 
What the earth would conceal ; 

O’er the rush of the banners 
She poises her wing, 

And marks with a shadow 
The brow of the King. 

‘ And, in bode of his doom. 

Jaw of Wolf, be the tomb 
Of the bones and the flesh. 

Gore-bedabbled and fresh, 

' That cranch and that drip 

Under fang and from lip. 

As I ride in the van 
Of the feasters on man. 

With the King ! 

‘ Grim wolf, sate thy maw. 

Full enow shall there be. 

Hairy jaw, hungry maw. 

Both for ye and for me ! 

‘ Meaner food be the feast 
Of the fowl and the beast, 


HAROLD 


347 


But the witch, for her share, 

Takes the best of the fare : 

And the witch shall be fed 
With the king of the dead. 

When she rides in the van. 

Of the slayers of man. 

With the King.’ 

And King Harold dreamed a dream. And he saw before 
him his brother, St. Olave. And the dead, to the Scald- 
King sang this song : — 

‘ Bold as thou in the fight. 

Blithe as thou in the hall. 

Shone the noon of my might, 

Ere the night of my fall ! 

‘ How humble is death. 

And how haughty is life ; 

And how fleeting the breath 
Between slumber and strife ! 

‘ All the earth is too narrow, 

O life, for thy tread ! 

Two strides o’er the barrow 
Can measure the dead. 

‘ Yet mighty that space is 
Which seemeth so small ; 

That realm of all races. 

With room for them all ! ’ 

But Harold Hardrada scorned witch-wife and dream ; and 
his fleets sailed on. Tostig joined him off the Orkney Isles, 
and this great armament soon came in sight of the shores 
of England. They landed at Cleveland, and at the dread 
of the terrible Norsemen, the coastmen fled or submitted. 
AITth booty and plunder they sailed on to Scarborough, but 
there the townsfolk were brave, and the walls were strong. 
The Norsemen ascended a hill above the town, lit a huge 
pile of wood, and tossed the burning piles down on the roofs. 
House after house caught the flame, and through the glare 
and the crash rushed the men of Hardrada. Great was the 
slaughter, and ample the plunder ; and the town, awed and 
depeopled, submitted to flame and to sword. 

Then the fleet sailed up the Humber and Ouse, and landed 
at Richall, not far from Y ork ; but Morcar, the Earl of 
Northumbria, came out with all his forces — all the stout 
men and tall of the great race of the Aiiglo-Dane. 

Then Hardrada advanced his flag, called Land-Eyda, the 
^ Ravager of the W orld,’ and, chanting a war-stave — led 
his men to the onslaught. 

The battle was fierce, but short. The English troops 


348 


HAROLD 


were defeated, they fled into York ; and the Ravager of the 
World was borne in triumph to the gates of the town. An 
exiled chief, however tyrannous and hateful, hath ever some 
friends among the desperate and lawless ; and success ever 
finds allies among the weak and the craven — so many 
Northumbrians now came to the side of Tostig. Dissension 
and mutiny broke out amidst the garrison within ; Morcar, 
unable to control the townsfolk, was driven forth with those 
still true to their country and King, and York agreed to 
open its gates to the conquering invader. 

At the news of this foe on the north side of the land. King 
Harold was compelled to withdraw all the forces at watch 
in the south against the tardy invasion of William. It was 
the middle of September ; eight months had elapsed since 
the Norman had launched forth his vaunting threat. Would 
he now dare to come ? — Come or not, that foe was afar, and 
this was in the heart of the country ! 

Now, York having thus capitulated, all the land round 
was humbled and awed ; and Hardrada and Tostig were 
blithe and gay ; and many days, thought they, must pass 
ere Harold the King can come from the south to the north. 

The camp of the Norsemen was at Stanford Bridge, and 
that day it was settled that they should formally enter York. 
Their ships lay in the river beyond ; a large portion of the 
armament was with the ships. The day was warm, and the 
men with Hardrada had laid aside their heavy mail and were 
^making merry,’ talking of the plunder of York, jeering at 
Saxon valour, and gloating over thoughts of the Saxon maids, 
whom Saxon men had failed to protect — when suddenly 
between them and the town rose and rolled a great cloud 
of dust. High it rose, and fast it rolled, and from the 
heart of the cloud shone the spear and the shield. 

^ What army comes yonder } ’ said Harold Hardrada. 

^ Surely,’ answered Tostig, ^ it comes from the town that 
we are to enter as conquerors, and can be but the friendly 
Northumbrians who have deserted Morcar for me.’ 

Nearer and nearer came the force, and the shine of the 
arms was like the glancing of ice. 

^Advance the World-Ravager ! ’ cried Harold Hardrada, 

‘ draw up, and to arms ! ’ 

Then, picking out three of his briskest youths, he de- 
spatched them to the force on the river with orders to come 
up quick to the aid. For already, through the cloud and 
amidst the spears, was seen the flag of the English King. 
On the previous night King Harold had entered York, 
unknown to the invaders — appeased the mutiny — cheered 
the townsfolks ; and now came like a thunderbolt borne 


HAROLD .349 

by the windsj to clear the air of England from the clouds 
of the North. 

Both armaments drew up in haste_, and Hardrada formed 
his array in the form of a circle — the line long but not deep, 
the wings curving round till they met, shield to shield, 
lliose who stood in the first rank set their spear shafts on 
the ground, the points level with the breast of a horseman ; 
those in the second, with spears yet lower, level with the 
breast of a horse ; thus forming a double palisade against 
the charge of cavalry. In the centre of this circle w^as 
placed the Ravager of the W orld, and round it a rampart of 
shields. Behind that rampart was the accustomed post at 
the onset of battle for the King and his body-guard. But 
Tostig was in front, with his own Northumbrian lion banner, 
and his chosen men. 

While this army was thus being formed, the English 
King was marshalling his force in the far more formidable 
tactics, which his military science had perfected from the 
warfare of the Danes. That form of battalion, invincible 
hitherto under his leadership, was in the manner of a wedge 
or triangle, thus A. So that, in attack, the men marched 
on the foe presenting the smallest possible surface to the 
missives, and, in defence, all three lines faced the assailants. 
King Harold cast his eye over the closing lines, and then, 
turning to Gurth, who rode by his side, said — 

‘^Take one man from yon hostile army, and with what 
joy should we charge on the Northmen ! ^ 

conceive thee,^ answered Gurth, mournfully, ‘^and 
the same thought of that one man makes my arm feel 
palsied.’ 

The King mused, and drew down the nasal bar of his 
helmet. 

^Thegns,’ said he suddenly, to the score of riders who 
grouped round him, ^follow.’ And shaking the rein of his 
horse. King Harold rode straight to that part of the hostile 
front from which rose, above the spears, the Northumbrian 
banner of Tostig. Wondering, but mute, the twenty thegns 
folio w^ed him. Before the grim array, and hard by Tostig’s 
banner, the King checked his steed and cried — 

^ Is Tostig, the son of Godwin and Githa, by the flag of 
the Northumbrian earldom ? ’ 

With his helmet raised, and his Norwegian mantle down- 
ing over his mail, Earl Tostig rode forth at that voice, and 
came up to the speaker. 

^ What wouldst thou with me, daring foe } ’ 

The Saxon horseman paused, and his deep voice trembled 
tenderly, as he answered slowly— 


350 


HAROLD 


‘Thy brother. King* Harold, sends to salute thee. Let 
not the sons from the same womb wage unnatural war in 
the soil of their fathers.’ 

‘What will Harold the King give to his brother.^’ 
answered Tostig. ‘Northumbria already he hath bestowed 
on the son of his house’s foe.’ 

The'Saxon hesitated, and a rider by his side took up the word. 
‘ If the Northumbrians will receive thee again, Northum- 
bria shalt thou have, and the King will bestow his late 
earldom of Wessex on Morcar ; if the Northumbrians reject 
thee, thou shalt have all the lordships which King Harold 
hath promised to Gurth.’ 

‘This is well,’ answered Tostig ; and he seemed to pause 
as in doubt ; when, made aware of this parley. King Harold 
Hardrada, on his coal-black steed, with his helm all shining 
with gold, rode from the lines, and came into hearing. 

‘ Ha !’ said Tostig, then turning round, as the giant form 
of the Norse King threw its vast shadow over the ground. 

‘ And if I take the offer, what will Harold son of Godwin 
give to my friend and ally Hardrada of Norway.^’ 

The Saxon rider reared his head at these v^ords, and 
gazed on the large front of Hardrada, as he answered, loud 
and distinct — 

‘ Seven feet of land for a grave, or, seeing that he is taller 
than other men, as much more as his corse may demand ! ’ 
‘Then go back, and tell Harold my brother to get ready 
for battle ; for never shall the Scalds and the warriors of 
Norway say that Tostig lured their king in his cause, to 
betray him to his foe. Here did he come, and here came I, 
to win as the brave win, or die as the brave die ! ’ 

A rider of younger and slighter form than the rest here 
whispered the Saxon King — 

‘ Delay no more, or thy men’s hearts will fear treason. ’ 

‘ llie tie is rent from my heart, O Haco,’ answered the 
King, ‘and the heart flies back to our England.’ 

He waved his hand, turned his steed, and rode off. The 
eye of Hardrada followed the horseman. 

‘And who,’ he asked calmly, ‘is that man who spoke so 
well.?’ 

‘ King Harold ! ’ answered Tostig, briefly. 

‘ How ! ’ cried the Norseman, reddening, ‘ how was not 
that made known to me before.? Never should he have 
gone back — never told hereafter the doom of this day ! ’ 
ATith all his ferocity, his envy, his grudge to Harold, 
and his treason to England, some rude notions of honour 
still lay confused in the breast of the Saxon; and he 
answered stoutly — 


HAROLD 


n5i 


Imprudent was Harold’s coming, and great his danger ; 
but he came to offer me peace and dominion. Had I 
betrayed him, I had not been his foe, but his murderer ! ’ 

Tlie Norse King smiled approvingly, and, turning to his 
chiefs, said, drily — 

^ That man was shorter than some of us, but he rode firm 
in his stirrups.’ 

And then this extraordinary person, who united in himself 
all the types of an age that vanished for ever in his grave, 
and who is the more interesting, as in him we see the race 
from which the Norman sprang, began, in the rich full voice 
that pealed deep as an organ, to chant his impromptu 
war-song. He halted in the midst, and with great com- 
posure said — 

^That verse is but ill-tuned : I must try a better.’ 

He passed his hand over his brow, mused an instant, and 
then, with his fair face all illumined, he burst forth as inspired. 

ITiis time, air, rhythm, words, all so chimed in with his 
own enthusiasm and that of his men, that the effect was 
inexpressible. It was, indeed, like the charm of those 
runes which are said to have maddened the Berserker with 
the frenzy of war. 

Meanwhile the Saxon phalanx came on, slow and firm, 
and in a few minutes the battle began. It commenced first 
with the charge of the English cavalry (never numerous), 
led by Leofwine and Haco, but the double palisade of the 
Norman spears formed an impassable barrier ; and the horse- 
men, recoiling from the frieze, rode round the iron circle 
without other damage than the spear and javelin could effect. 
Meanwhile, King Harold, who had dismounted, marched, 
as was his wont, with the body of footmen. He kept his 
post in the hollow of the triangular wedge whence he could 
best issue his orders. Avoiding the side over which Tostig 
presided, he halted his array in full centre of the enemy, 
where the Ravager of the W orld, streaming high above the 
inner rampart of shields, show'ed the presence of the giant 
Hardrada. 

The air was now' literally darkened with the flights of 
arrows and spears ; and in a war of missives, the Saxons 
were less skilled than the Norsemen. Still King Harold 
restrained the ardour of his men, who, sore harassed by the 
darts, yearned to close on the foe. He himself, standing on 
a little eminence, more exposed than his meanest soldier, 
deliberately eyed the sallies of the horse, and watched the 
moment he foresaw, when, encouraged by his ow n suspense, 
and the feeble attacks of the cavalry, the Norsemen would 
lift their spears from the ground, and advance themselves 


352 


HAROLD 


to the assault. That moment came ; unable to withhold 
their own fiery zeal^ stimulated by the tromp and the clash, 
and the war-hymns of their King, and his choral Scalds, the 
Norsemen broke ground and came on. 

^ To your axes, and charge ! ’ cried Harold ; and passing 
at once from the centre to the front, he led on the array. 

The impetus of that artful phalanx was tremendous ; it 
pierced through the ring of the Norwegians : it clove into 
the rampart of shields ; and King Harold’s battle-axe was 
the first that shivered that wall of steel ; his step the first 
that strode into the innermost circle that guarded the 
Ravager of the World. 

nieii forth, from under the shade of that great flag, 
came, himself also on foot, Harold Hardrada : shouting and 
chanting, he leapt with long strides into the thick of the 
onslaught. He had flung away his shield, and swaying with 
both hands his enormous sword, he hewed down man after 
man till space grew clear before him ; and the English, 
recoiling in awe before an image of height and strength 
that seemed superhuman, left but one form standing firm, 
and in front, to oppose his way. 

At that moment the whole strife seemed not to belong 
to an age comparatively modern, it took a character of 
remotest eld ; and Thor and Odin seemed to have returned 
to the earth. Behind this towering and Titan warrior, 
their wild hair streaming long under their helms, came his 
Scalds, all singing their hymns, drunk with the madness of 
battle. And the Ravager of the W orld tossed and flapped 
as it followed, so that the vast raven depicted on its folds 
seemed horrid with life. And calm and alone, his eye 
watchful, his axe lifted, his foot ready for rush or for spring 
— but firm as an oak against flight — stood the Last of the 
Saxon Kings. 

Down bounded Hardrada, and down shore his sw ord ; 
King Harold’s shield was cloven in two, and the force of 
the blow brought himself to his knee. But, as swift as 
the flash of that sword, he sprang to his feet ; and w^hile 
Hardrada still bowed his head, not recovered from the force 
of his blow, the axe of the Saxon came so full on his helmet, 
that the giant reeled, dropped his sword, and staggered 
back ; his Scalds and his Chiefs rushed around him. That 
gallant stand of King Harold saved his English from flight ; 
and now, as they saw him almost lost in the throng, yet 
still cleaving his w ay— on, on — to the raven standard, they 
rallied with one heart, and shouting forth, ^ Out, out ! 
Holy crosse ! ’ forced their way to his side, and the fight 
now waged hot and equal, hand to hand. Meanwhile 


HAROLD 


353 


Hardrada, borne a little apart, and relieved from his 
dinted helmet, recovered the shock of the weightiest blow 
that had ever dimmed his eye and numbed his hand. 
Tossing the helmet on the ground, his bright locks glitter- 
ing like sunbeams, he rushed back to the melee. Again 
helm and mail went down before him ; again through the 
crowd he saw the arm that had smitten him ; again he 
sprang forwards to finish the war with a blow — when a shaft 
from some distant bow pierced the throat which the casque 
now left bare ; a sound like the wail of a death-song 
murmured brokenly from his lips, which then gushed out 
with blood, and tossing up his arms wildly, he fell to the 
ground, a corpse. At that sight, a yell of such terror and 
woe, and wrath all commingled, broke from the Norsemen, 
that it hushed the very war for the moment ! 

^ On ! ’ cried the Saxon King ; ^ let our earth take its 
spoiler ! On to the standard, and the day is our own ! ’ 

^ On to the standard ! ’ cried Haco, who, his horse slain 
under him, all bloody with wounds not his own, now came 
to the King’s side. Grim and tall rose the standard, and 
the streamer shrieked and flapped in the wind as if the 
raven had voice, when, right before Harold, right between 
him and the banner, stood Tostig his brother, known by 
the splendour of his mail, the gold-work on his mantle — 
known by the fierce laugh, and the defying voice. 

^ What matters ! ’ cried Haco ; ^ strike, O King, for thy 
crown ! ’ 

Harold’s hand griped Haco’s arm convulsively ; he lowered 
his axe turned round, and passed shudderingly away. 

Both armies now paused from the attack \ for both were 
thrown into great disorder, and each gladly gave respite to 
the other, to re-form its own shattered array. 

The Norsemen were not the soldiers to yield because their 
leader was slain — rather the more resolute to fight, since 
revenge was now added to valour ; yet, but for the daring 
and promptness with which Tostig had cut his way to the 
standard, the day had been already decided. 

During the pause, Harold summoning Gurth, said to 
him in great emotion, ^For the sake of Nature, for the 
love of God, go, O Gurth — go to Tostig; urge him, now 
Hardrada is dead, urge him to peace. All that we can 
proffer with honour, proffer — quarter and free retreat to every 
Norseman. Oh, save me, save us, from a brother’s blood ! 

Gurth lifted his helmet, and kissed the mailed hand that 
grasped his own. 

^1 go,’ said he. And so, bareheaded, and with a single 
trumpeter, he went to the hostile lines, 
z 


354 


HAROLD 


Harold awaited him in great agitation , nor could any 
man have guessed what bitter and awful thoughts lay in that 
hearty from which, in the way to power, tie after tie had 
been wrenched away. He did not wait long; and even 
before Gurth rejoined him, he knew by an unanimous shout 
of fury, to which the clash of countless shields chimed in, 
that the mission had been in vain. 

Tostig had refused to hear Gurth, save in presence of 
the Norwegian chiefs; and when the message had been 
delivered, they all cried, ^We would rather fall one across 
the corpse of the other, than leave a field in which our King 
was slain.' 

^ Ye hear them,’ said Tostig ; ^as they speak, speak I.’ 

^ Not mine this guilt, too, O God ! ’ said Harold, solemnly 
lifting his hand on high. ^Now, then, to duty.’ 

By this time the Norwegian reinforcements had arrived 
from the ships, and this for a short time rendered the con- 
flict, that immediately ensued, uncertain and critical. But 
Harold’s generalship was now as consummate as his valour 
had been daring. He kept his men true to their irrefragable 
line. Even if fragments splintered off, each fragment 
threw itself into the form of the resistless wedge. One 
Norwegian, standing on the bridge of Stanford, long guarded 
that pass ; and no less than forty Saxons are said to have 
perished by his arm. To him the English King sent a 
generous pledge, not only of safety for the life, but honour 
for the valour. The viking refused to surrender, and fell 
at last by a javelin from the hand of Haco. As if in him 
had been embodied the unyielding war-god of the Norseman, 
in that death died the last hope of the vikings. They fell 
literally where they stood ; many, from sheer exhaustion 
and the weight of their mail, died without a blow. And in 
the shades of nightfall, Harold stood amidst the shattered 
rampart of shields, his foot on the corpse of the standard- 
bearer, his hand on the Ravager of the W orld. 

^ Tliy brother’s corpse is borne yonder,’ said Haco in the 
ear of the King, as, wiping the blood from his sword, he 
plunged it back into the sheath. 


CHAPTER XII 

Young Olave, the son of Hardrada, had happily escaped 
the slaughter. A strong detachment of the Norwegians had 
still remained with the vessels, and amongst them some 


HAROLD 


355 


prudent old chiefs, who, foreseeing the probable results 
of the day, and knowing that Hardrada would never quit, 
save as a conqueror or a corpse, the field on which he had 
planted the Ravager of the World, had detained the Prince 
almost by force from sharing the fate of his father. But ere 
those vessels could put out to sea, the vigorous measures of 
the Saxon King had already intercepted the retreat of the 
vessels. And then, ranging their shields as a wall round 
their masts, the bold vikings at least determined to die 
as men. But with the morning came King Harold himself 
to the banks of the river, and behind him, with trailed 
lances, a solemn procession that bore the body of the Scald 
King. They halted on the margin, and a boat was launched 
towards the Norwegian fleet, bearing a monk, who demanded 
the chiefs to send a deputation, headed by the young Prince 
himself, to receive the corpse of their King, and hear the 
proposals of the Saxon. 

The vikings, who had anticipated no preliminaries to the 
massacre they awaited, did not hesitate to accept these 
overtures. Twelve of the most famous chiefs still surviving, 
and Olave himself, entered the boat ; and, standing between 
his brothers, Leofwine and Gurth, Harold thus accosted 
them — 

^Your King invaded a people that had given him no 
olFence : he has paid the forfeit — we war not with the 
dead ! Give to his remains the honours due to the brave. 
Without ransom or condition, we yield to you what can no 
longer harm us. And for thee, young Prince,’ continued 
the King, with a tone of pity in his voice, as he contemplated 
the stately boyhood, and proud, but deep grief in the face of 
Olave ; ^ for thee, wilt thou not live to learn that the wars 
of Odin are treason to the Faith of the Cross We have 
conquered — we dare not butcher. Take such ships as ye 
need for those that survive. Three-and-twenty I offer for 
your transport. Return to your native shores, and guard 
them as we have guarded ours. Are ye contented ? ’ 

Amongst those chiefs was a stern priest — the Bishop of the 
Orcades — he advanced and bent his knee to the King. 

^O Lord of England,’ said he, yesterday thou didst 
conquer the form — to-day, the soul. And never more may 
generous Norsemen invade the coast of him who honours 
the dead and spares the living.’ 

^ Amen ! ’ cried the chiefs, and they all knelt to Harold. 
The young Prince stood a moment irresolute, for his dead 
father was on the bier before him, and revenge was yet a 
virtue in the heart of a sea-king. But lifting his eyes to 
Harold’s, the mild and gentle majesty of the Saxon’s brow 


35G 


HAROLD 


was^ irresistible in its benign command ; and stretching his 
right hand to the King, he raised on high the other, and 
said aloud, ^ Faith and friendship with thee and England 
evermore/ 

Tlien all the chiefs rising, they gathered round the bier, 
but no hand, in the sight of the conquering foe, lifted the 
cloth of gold that covered the corpse of the famous King. 
The bearers of the bier moved on slowly towards the boat ; 
the Norwegians followed with measured funereal steps. And 
not till the bier was placed on board the royal galley was 
there heard the wail of woe ; but then it came, loud, and 
deep, and dismal, and was followed by a burst of wdld song 
from a surviving Scald. 

The Norwegian preparations for departure were soon made, 
and the ships vouchsafed to their convoy raised anchor, and 
sailed down the stream. Harold’s eye watched the ships 
from the river banks. 

'And there,’ said he, at last, 'there glide the last sails 
that shall ever bear the devastating raven to the shores of 
England.’ 

Truly, in that field had been the most signal defeat those 
warriors, hitherto almost invincible, had known. On that 
bier lay the last son of Berserker and sea-king : and be it, 
O Harold, remembered in thine honour, that not by the 
Norman, but by thee, true-hearted Saxon, was trampled on 
the English soil the Ravager of the World ! 

'So be it,’ said Haco, 'and so, methinks, will it be. 
But forget not the descendant of the Norsemen, the Count 
of Rouen ! ’ 

Harold started, and turned to his chiefs. ' Sound trumpet, 
and fall in. To York we march. There re-settle the earldom, 
collect the spoil, and then back, my men, to the southern 
shores. Yet first kneel thou, Haco, son of my brother 
Sweyn : thy deeds were done in the light of Heaven, in the 
sight of warriors in the open field ; so should thine honours 
find thee ! Not with the vain fripperies of Norman knight- 
hood do I deck thee, but make thee one of the elder brother- 
hood of Minister and Miles. I gird round thy loins mine own 
baldric of pure silver ; I place in thy hand mine own sword 
of plain steel ; and bid thee rise to take place in council and 
camps amongst the Proceres of England, — Earl of Hertford 
and Essex. Boy,’ whispered the King, as he bent over the 
pale cheek of his nephew, 'thank not me. From me the 
thanks should come. On the day that saw Tostig’s crime 
and his death, thou didst purify the name of my brother 
Sweyn ! On to our city of York ! ’ 

High banquet was held in York : and, according to the 


HAROLD 


n57 


customs of the Saxou moiiarchs, the King could not absent 
himself from the Victory Feast of his thegns. He sate at 
the head of the board, between his brothers. Morcar, 
whose departure from the city had deprived him of a share 
in the battle, had arrived that day with his brother Edwin, 
whom he had gone to summon to his aid. And though the 
young Earls envied the fame they had not shared, the envy 
w as noble. 

Gay and boisterous was the wassail ; and lively song, 
long neglected in England, woke, as it wakes ever, at the 
breath of Joy and Fame. As if in the days of Alfred, 
the harp passed from hand to hand ; martial and rough 
the strain beneath the touch of the Anglo-Dane, more 
refined and thoughtful the lay when it chimed to the voice 
of the Anglo-Saxon. But the memory of Tostig — all guilty 
though he was — a brother slain in war with a brother, lay 
heavy on Harold’s soul. Still, so had he schooled and 
trained himself to live but for England — know no joy and 
no wme not hers — that by degrees and strong efforts he 
shook off his gloom. And music, and song, and wine, and 
blazing lights, and the proud sight of those long lines of 
valiant men, whose hearts had beat and whose hands had 
triumphed in the same cause, all aided to link his senses 
with the gladness of the hour. 

And now, as night advanced, Leofwine, who was ever a 
favourite in the banquet, as Gurth in the council, rose to 
propose the drink-hcBl, which carries the most characteristic 
of our modern social customs to an antiquity so remote, 
and the roar was hushed at the sight of the young Earl’s 
winsome face. With due decorum, he uncovered his head, 
composed his countenance, and began — 

^ Craving forgiveness of my lord the King, and this noble 
assembly,’ said Leofwine, ^ in which are so many from whom 
what I intend to propose would come with better grace, I 
would remind you that William, Count of the Normans, 
meditates a pleasure excursion, of the same nature as our 
late visitor, Harold Hardrada’s.’ 

A scornful laugh ran through the hall. 

^And as we English are hospitable folk, and give any 
man, who asks, meat and board for one night, so one day’s 
welcome, methinks, will be all that the Count of the 
Normans will need at our English hands.’ 

Flushed with the joyous insolence of wine, the wassailers 
roared applause. 

^ Wherefore, this drink-hcBl to William of Rouen ! And, to 
borrow a saying now in every man’s lips, and which, I think, 
our good scops will take care that our children’s children 


358 


HAROLD 


shall learn by hearty — since lie covets our Saxon soil, seven 
feet of land in frank pledge to him for ever ! * 

* Drink-hcdl to William the Norman !’ shouted the revellers ; 
and each man, with mocking formality, took off his cap, 
kissed his hand, and bowed. ^Drink-heel to William the 
Norman ! " and the shout rolled from floor to roof — when, in 
the midst of the uproar, a man all bedabbled with dust and 
mire, rushed into the hall, rushed through the rows of the 
banqueters, rushed to the throne-chair of Harold, and cried 
aloud, ^ William the Norman is encamped on the shores of 
Sussex ; and with the mightiest armament ever yet seen in 
England, is ravaging the land far and near ! ’ 


V 




BOOK XII 


THE BATTLE OP HASTINGS 

CHAPTER I 

In the heart of the forest land in which Hilda’s abode was 
situated, a gloomy pool reflected upon its stagnant waters 
the still shadows of the autumnal foliage. As is common 
in ancient forests in the neighbourhood of men’s wants, 
the trees were dwarfed in height by repeated loppings, and 
the boughs sprang from the hollow, gnarled boles of pollard 
oaks and beeches ; the trunks, vast in girth, and covered 
with mosses and whitening canker-stains, or wreaths of ivy, 
spoke of the most remote antiquity : but the boughs which 
their lingering and mutilated life put forth, were either thin 
and feeble with innumerable branchlets, or were centred on 
some solitary distorted limb which the woodman’s axe had 
spared. The trees thus assumed all manner of crooked, 
deformed, fantastic shapes — all betokening age, and all 
decay — all, in despite of the noiseless solitude around, 
proclaiming the waste and ravages of man. 

The time was that of the first watches of night, when the 
autumnal moon was brightest and broadest. You might 
see, on the opposite side of the pool, the antlers of the deer 
every now and then moving restlessly above the fern in 
which they had made their couch ; and, through the nearer 
glades, the hares and conies stealing forth to sport or to 
feed ; or the bat, wheeling low, in chase of the forest moth. 
From the thickest part of the copse came a slow human foot, 
and Hilda, emerging, paused by the waters of the pool. 
That serene and stony calm habitual to her features was 
gone ; sorrow and passion had seized the soul of the Vala, 
in the midst of its fancied security from the troubles it 
presumed to foresee for others. The lines of the face were 
deep and care-worn — age had come on with rapid strides — 
and the light of the eye was vague and unsettled, as if the 
lofty reason shook, terrified in its pride, at last. 


359 


8G0 


HAROLD 


‘ Alone, alone ! ’ she murmured, half aloud : ^ yea, ever- 
more alone ! And the grandchild I had reared to be the 
mother of kings — whose fate, from the cradle, seemed linked 
with royalty and love — in whom, watching and hoping for, 
in whom, loving and heeding, methought I lived again the 
sweet human life — hath gone from my hearth — forsaken, 
broken-hearted — withering down to the grave under the 
shade of the barren cloister ! Is mine heart, then, all a lie ? 
Are the gods who led Odin from the Scythian East but the 
juggling fiends whom the craven Christian abhors? Lo ! 
the Wine Month has come ; a few nights more, and the sun 
which all prophecy foretold should go down on the union of 
the king and the maid, shall bring round the appointed day : 
yet Aldyth still lives, and Edith still withers ; and War 
stands side by side with the Church, between the betrothed 
and the altar. Verily, verily, my spirit hath lost its power, 
and leaves me bowed, in the awe of night, a feeble, aged, 
hopeless, childless w oman ! ’ 

Tears of human weakness rolled dowui the Vala’s cheeks. 
At that moment, a laugh came from a thing that had seemed 
like the fallen trunk of a tree, or a trough in which the 
herdsmen waters his cattle, so still, and shapeless, and 
undefined it had lain amongst the rank weeds and night- 
shade, and trailing creepers on the marge of the pool. Tlie 
laugh was low yet fearful to hear. 

Slowly the thing moved, and rose, and took the outline 
of a human form ; and the Prophetess beheld the witch 
whose sleep she had disturbed by the Saxon’s grave. 

^Wliere is the banner?’ said the witch, laying her hand 
on Hilda’s arm, and looking into her face w ith bleared and 
rheumy eyes, ^ where is the banner thy hand-maids w'ere 
weaving for Harold the Earl? ’"st thou lay aside 



that labour of love for Harold 


Hie thee home. 


and bid thy maidens ply all night at the work ; make it 
potent with rune and with spell, and with gums of the seid. 
Take the banner to Harold the King as a marriage-gift; 
for the day of his birth shall be still the day of his nuptials 
with Edith the Fair !’ 

Hilda gazed on the hideous form before her ; and so had 
her soul fallen from its arrogant pride of place, that instead 
of the scorn with which so foul a pretender to the Great 
Art had before inspired the King-born Prophetess, her veins 
tingled with credulous aw'e. 

' Art thou a mortal like myself,’ she said after a pause, 
^ or one of those beings often seen by the shepherd in mist 
and rain, driving before them their shadowy flocks ? one of 
those of whom no man knoweth whether they are of earth or 


HAROLD 


301 


of Hellieim? wlietlier they have ever known tlie lot and 
conditions of flesh, or are but some dismal race between 
body and spirit, hateful alike to gods and to men ? ’ 

The dreadful hag shook her head, as if refusing to answer 
the question, and said — 

^ Sit we down, sit we down by the dead dull pool, and if 
thou wouldst be wise as I am, wake up all thy wrongs, fill 
thyself with hate, and let thy thoughts be curses. Nothing 
is strong on earth but the Will ; and hate to the will is as 
the iron in the hands of the war-man.’ 

^ Ha ! ’ answered Hilda, ^ then thou art indeed one of the 
loathsome brood whose magic is born, not of the aspiring 
soul, but the fiendlike heart. And between us there is no 
union. I am of the race of those of whom priests and kings 
reverenced and honoured as the oracles of heaven ; and 
rather let my lore be dimmed and weakened, in admitting 
the humanities of hope and love, than be lightened by the 
glare of the wrath that Lok and Rana bear the children of 
men.’ 

^What, art thou so base and so doting,’ said the hag, 
with fierce contempt, ^as to know that another has sup- 
planted thine Edith, that all the schemes of thy life are 
undone, and yet feel no hate for the man who hath wronged 
her and thee ; — the man who had never been king if thou 
hadst not breathed into him the ambition of rule } Think, 
and curse ! ’ 

^ My curse would wither the heart that is entwined within 
his,’ answered Hilda ; ^ and,’ she added abruptly, as if eager 
to escape from her own impulses, didst thou not tell me, 
even now, that the wrong would be redressed, and his 
betrothed yet be his bride on the appointed day ? ’ 

‘ Ha ! home, then ! — home ! and weave the charmed woof 
of the banner, broider it with zimmes and with gold worthy 
the standard of a king; for 1 tell thee, that where that 
banner is planted, shall Edith clasp with bridal arms her 
adored. And the hwata thou hast read by the baustatein, 
and in the temple of the Briton’s revengeful gods, shall be 
fulfilled.’ 

^ Dark daughter of Helas,’ said the Prophetess, ^ whether 
demon or god hath inspired thee, I hear in my spirit a voice 
that tells me thou hast pierced to a truth that my lore could 
not reach. Thou art houseless and poor ; I will give wealth 
to thine age if thou wilt stand with me by the altar of Thor, 
and let thy galdra unriddle the secrets that have baffled 
mine own. All foreshown to me hath ever come to pass, 
but in a sense other than that in which my soul read the 
rune and the dream, the leaf and the fount, the star and 


HAROLD 


.^02 

the Sciii-lifica. My husband slain in his youth ; my daughter 
maddened with woe ; her lord murdered on his hearthstone ; 
Sweyn, whom I loved as my child,’ — the Vala paused, con- 
tending against her own emotions , — ‘ I loved them all,’ 
she faltered, clasping her hands, ^for them I tasked the 
future. The future promised fair ; I lured them to their 
doom, and when the doom came, lo ! the promise was kept ! 
but how ? — and now, Edith, the last of my race ; Harold, 
the pride of my pride ! — speak, thing of Horror aud Night, 
canst thou disentangle the web in which my soul struggles, 
weak as the fly in the spider’s mesh } ’ 

‘ On the third night from this, will I stand with thee by 
the altar of Thor, and unriddle the rede of my masters, 
unknown and unguest, whom thou hadst duteously served. 
And ere the sun rise, the greatest mystery earth knows 
shall be bare to thy soul ! ’ 

As the witch spoke, a cloud passed over the moon ; and 
before the light broke forth again, the hag had vanished. 
There was only seen in the dull pool, the water-rat swim- 
ming through the rank sedges ; only in the forest, the grey 
wings of the owl, fluttering heavily across the glades ; only 
in the grass, the red eyes of the bloated toad. 

Then Hilda went slowly home, and the maids worked all 
night at the charmed banner. All that night, too, the watch- 
dogs howled in the yard, through the ruined peristyle — 
howled in rage and in fear. And under the lattice of the 
room in which the maids broidered the banner, and the 
Prophetess muttered her charm, there couched, muttering 
also, a dark, shapeless thing, at which those dogs howled 
in rage and in fear. 


CHAPTER II 

All within the palace of Westminster showed the confusion 
and dismay of the awful time ; — all, at least, save the council 
chamber, in which Harold, who had arrived the night before, 
conferred with his thegns. It was evening : the courtyards 
and the halls were filled with armed men, and almost with 
every hour came rider and bode from the Sussex shores. 
In the corridors the Churchmen grouped and whispered, 
as they had whispered and grouped in the day of King 
Edward’s death. Stigand passed among them, pale and 
thoughtful. The serge gowns came rustling round the 
Archprelate for counsel or courage. 


HAROLD 


nr>3 

^ Shall we go forth with the King’s army ? ’ asked a young 
monk, bolder than the rest, Uo animate the host with 
prayer and hymn ? ’ 

^ Fool ! ’ said the miserly prelate, ‘ fool ! if we do so, and 
the Norman conquer, what become of our abbacies and con- 
vent lands ? The Duke wars against Harold, not England. 
If he slay Harold ’ 

^ What then } ’ 

^ The Atheling is left us yet. Stay we here and guard the 
last prince of the House of Cerdic,’ whispered Stigand, and 
he swept on. 

In the Chamber in which Edward had breathed his last, 
his widowed Queen, with Aldyth, her successor, and Githa 
and some other ladies, waited the decision of the council. 
By one of the windows stood, clasping each other by the 
hand, the fair young bride of Gurth and the betrothed of 
the gay Leofwine. Githa sate alone, bowing her face over 
her hands — desolate ; mourning for the fate of her traitor 
son ; and the wounds that the recent and holier death of 
lliyra had inflicted, bled afresh. And the holy lady of 
Edward attempted in vain, by pious adjurations, to comfort 
Aldyth, who, scarcely heeding her, started ever and anon 
with impatient terror, muttering to herself, ^ Shall I lose 
this crown too ? ’ 

In the council-hall debate waxed warm — which was the 
wiser, to meet AVilliam at once in the battle-field, or to 
delay till all the forces Harold might expect (and which 
he had ordered to be levied, in his rapid march from York) 
could swell his host ? 

^ If we retire before the enemy,’ said Gurth, ‘ leaving him 
in a strange land, winter approaching, his forage will fail. 
He will scarce dare to march upon London : if he does, we 
shall be better prepared to encounter him. My voice is 
against resting all on a single battle.’ 

^ Is that thy choice ? ’ said Vebba, indignantly. * Not so, 
I am sure, would have chosen thy father ; not so think the 
Saxons of Kent. The Norman is laying waste all the lands 
of thy subjects. Lord Harold ; living on plunder, as a robber, 
in the realm of King Alfred. Dost thou think that men will 
get better heart to fight for their country by hearing that 
their King shrinks from the danger ? ’ 

^ Tliou speakest well and wisely,’ said Haco ; and all eyes 
turned to the young son of Sweyn, as the one who best knew 
the character of the hostile army and the skill of its chief. 
'We have now with us a force flushed with conquest over 
a foe hitherto deemed invincible. Men who have conquered 
the Norwegian will not shrink from the Norman. Victory 


H A Jl O L D 


depends upon ardour more than numbers. Every hour of 
delay damps the ardour. Are we sure that it will swell 
the numbers } What I dread most is not the sword of the 
Norman Duke, it is his craft. Rely upon it, that if we meet 
him not soon, he will march straight to London. He will 
proclaim by the way that he comes not to seize the throne, 
but to punish Harold, and abide by the Witan, or, perchance, 
by the word of the Roman pontiff. ITie terror of his arma- 
ment, unresisted, will spread like a panic through the land. 
Many will be decoyed by his false pretexts, many awed by 
a force that the King dare not meet. If he come in sight 
of the city, think you that merchants and cheapmen will 
not be daunted by the thought of pillage and sack } They 
will be the first to capitulate at the first house which is 
fired. The city is weak to guard against siege ; its walls 
long neglected ; and in sieges the Normans are famous. 
Are we so united (the King’s rule thus fresh) but wliat 
no cabals, no dissensions will break out amongst ourselves ? 
If the Duke come, as come he will, in the name of the 
Church, may not the Churchmen set up some new pre- 
tender to the crown — perchance the child Edgar And, 
divided against ourselves, how ingloriously should we fall ! 
Besides, this land, though never before have the links 
between province and province been drawn so close, hath 
yet demarcations that make the people selfish. The North- 
umbrians, I fear, will not stir to aid London, and Mercia 
will hold aloof from our peril. Grant that \Tilliam once 
seize London, all England is broken up and dispirited ; each 
shire, nay, each town, looking only to itself. Talk of delay 
as wearing out the strength of the foe ! No, it would wear 
out our own. Little eno’, I fear, is yet left in our treasury. 
If William seize London, that treasury is his, with all the 
wealth of our burgesses. How should we maintain an army, 
except by preying on the people, and thus discontenting 
tliem.^ Where guard that afmy.^ VThere are our forts 
where our mountains ? The war of delay suits only a land 
of rock and defile, or of castle and breast-work. Thegns 
and warriors, ye have no castles but your breasts of mail. 
Abandon these, and you are lost.’ 

A general murmur of applause closed this speech of Haco, 
which, while wise in arguments our historians have over- 
looked, came home to that noblest reason of brave men, 
which urges prompt resistance to foul invasion. 

Up, then, rose King Harold. 

‘ 1 thank you, fellow-Englishmen, for that applause with 
which ye have p-eeted mine own thoughts on the lips of Haco. 
JShall it be said that your King rushed to chase his own 


HAROLD 


305 


brother from the soil of outraged England, yet shrunk from 
the sword of the Norman stranger? Well indeed might my 
brave subjects desert my banner if it floated idly over these 
palace walls while the armed invader pitched his camp in 
the heart of England. By delay, William’s force, whatever 
it might be, cannot grow less ; his cause grows more strong 
in our craven fears. What his armament may be we rightly 
know not ; the report varies with every messenger, swelling 
and lessening with the rumours of every hour. Have we 
not around us now our most stalwart veterans — the flower 
of our armies — the most eager spirits — the vanquishers of 
Hardrada? Thou sayest, Gurth, that all should not be 
perilled on a single battle. True. Harold should be 
perilled, but wherefore England? Grant that we win the 
day ; the quicker our despatch, the greater our fame, the 
more lasting that peace at home and abroad which rests 
ever its best foundation on the sense of the power which 
wrong cannot provoke unchastised. Grant that we lose ; 
a loss can be made gain by a king’s brave death. Why 
should not our example rouse and unite all who survive 
us ? 'WTiich the nobler example, the one best fitted to pro- 
tect our country — the recreant backs of living chiefs, or the 
glorious dead with their fronts to the foe ? Come what may, 
life or death, at least we will thin the Norman numbers, 
and heap the barriers of our corpses on the Norman march. 
At least, we can show to the rest of England how men 
should defend their native land ! And if, as I believe and 
pray, in every English breast beats a heart like Harold’s, 
what matters though a king should fall ? — Freedom is im- 
mortal.* 

He spoke ; and forth from his baldric he drew his sword. 
Every blade at that signal, leapt from the sheath : and in 
that council-hall at least, in every breast beat the heart of 
Harold, 


CHAPTER III 

The chiefs dispersed to array their troops for the morrow’s 
march ; but Harold and his kinsmen entered the chamber 
where the women waited the decision of the council, for 
that in truth, was to them the parting interview. The 
King had resolved, after completing all his martial pre- 
parations, to pass the night in the Abbey of Waltham ; and 
his brothers lodged, with the troops they commanded, in 


360 


HAROLD 


the city or its suburbs. Haco alone remained with that 
portion of the army quartered in and around the palace. 

They entered the chamber, and in a moment each heart 
had sought its mate ; in the mixed assembly each only con- 
scious of the other. There, Gurth bowed his noble head 
over the weeping face of the young bride that for the last 
time nestled to his bosom. There with a smiling lip, but 
tremulous voice, the gay Leofwine soothed and chided in a 
breath the maiden he had wooed as the partner for a life 
that his mirthful spirit made one holiday ; snatching kisses 
from a cheek no longer coy. 

But cold was the kiss which Harold pressed on the brow 
of Aldyth ; and with something of disdain, and of bitter 
remembrance of a nobler love, he comforted a terror which 
sprang from the thought of self. 

^ Oh, Harold ! ’ sobbed Aldyth, ^ be not rashly brave : 
guard thy life for my sake. Without thee, what am I Is 
it even safe for me to rest here.^ Were it not better to 
fly to York, or seek refuge with Malcolm the Scot.^’ 

^Within three days at the farthest,’ answered Harold, 

' thy brothers will be in London. Abide by their counsel ; 
act as they advise at the news of my victory or my fall.’ 

He paused abruptly, for he heard close beside him the 
broken voice of Gurth’s bride, in answer to her lord. 

^ Think not of me, beloved; thy whole heart now be 
England’s. And if — if’ — her voice failed a moment, but 
resumed proudly, ^ why even then thy wife is safe, for she 
survives not her lord and her land ! ’ 

The King left his wife’s side, and kissed his brother’s 
bride. 

^ Noble heart ! ’ he said ; ^ with women like thee for our 
wives and mothers, England could survive the slaughter of a 
thousand kings.’ 

He turned, and knelt to Githa. She threw her arms over 
his broad breast, and wept bitterly. 

^Say — say, Harold, that I have not reproached thee for 
Tostig’s death. I have obeyed the last commands of God- 
win my lord. I have deemed thee ever right and just ; now 
let me not lose thee, too. They go with thee, all my sur- 
viving sons, save the exile Wolnoth, — him whom now I shall 
never behold again. Oh, Harold ! — let not mine old age be 
childless ! ’ 

^ Mother, — dear, dear mother, with these arms round my 
neck I take new life and new heart. No ! never hast thou 
reproached me for my brother’s death — never for aught 
which man’s first duty enjoined. Murmur not that that 
duty commands us still. We are the sous, through thee, of 


HAROLD 


307 


royal heroes ; through my father, of Saxon freemen. Rejoice 
that thou hast three sons left, whose arms thou mayest pray 
God and his saints to prosper, and over whose graves, if they 
fall, thou shalt shed no tears of shame ! ’ 

Then the widow of King Edward, who (the crucifix 
clasped in her hands) had listened to Harold with lips apart 
and marble cheeks, could keep down no longer her human 
woman’s heart; she rushed to Harold as he still knelt to 
Githa — knelt by his side, and clasped him in her arms with 
despairing fondness : — 

^ O brother, brother, whom I have so dearly loved when 
all other love seemed forbidden me ; — when he who gave me 
a throne refused me his heart ; when, looking at thy fair 
promise, listening to thy tender comfort, — when, remember- 
ing the days of old, in which thou wert my docile pupil, and 
we dreamed bright dreams together of happiness and fame 
to come, — when, loving thee methought too w ell, too much 
as weak mothers may love a mortal son, I prayed God to 
detach my heart from earth ! — Oh, Harold ! now forgive me 
all my coldness. I shudder at thy resolve. I dread that 
thou should meet this man, whom an oath hath bound thee 
to obey. Nay, frown not — I bow to thy will, my brother 
and my King. I know that thou hast chosen as thy con- 
science sanctions, as thy duty ordains. But come back — Oh, 
come back — thou who, like me ’ (her voice whispered), ^ hast 
sacrificed the household hearth to thy country’s altars, — and 
I will never pray to heaven to love thee less — my brother, oh 
my brother .' ’ 

In all the room were then heard but the low sounds of 
sobs and broken exclamations. All clustered to one spot — 
Leofwine and his betrothed — Gurth and his bride — even the 
selfish Aldyth, ennobled by the contagion of the sublime 
emotion, — all clustered round Githa the mother of the three 
guardians of the fated land, and all knelt before her, by the 
side of Harold. Suddenly, the widowed Queen, the virgin 
wife of the last heir of Cerdic, rose, and holding on high 
the sacred rood over those bended heads, said, with devout 
passion — 

Lord of Hosts — We Children of Doubt and Time, 
trembling in the dark, dare not take to ourselves to question 
thine unerring will. Sorrow and death, as joy and life, are 
at the breath of a mercy divine, and a wisdom all-seeing : 
and out of the hours of evil thou drawest, in mystic circle, 
the eternity of Good. Thy will be done on earth, as it is 
in heaven.” If, O Disposer of events, our human prayers 
are not adverse to thy pre-judged decrees, protect these 
lives, the bulwarks of our homes and altars, sons whom the 


3G8 


HAROLD 


land offers as a sacrifice. May thine angel turn aside the 
blade — as of old from the heart of Isaac ! But if, O Ruler 
of Nations, in whose sight the ages are as moments, and 
generations but as sands in the sea, these lives are doomed, 
may the death expiate their sins, and, shrived on the battle- 
field, absolve and receive the souls ! ’ 


CHAPTER IV 

By the altar of the Abbey Church at Waltham, that night, 
knelt Edith in prayer for Harold. 

She had taken up her abode in a small convent of nuns 
that adjoined the more famous monastery of Waltham ; but 
she had promised Hilda not to enter on the noviciate, until 
the birthday of Harold had passed. She herself had no 
longer faith in the omens and prophecies that had deceived 
her youth and darkened her life ; and, in the more congenial 
air of our Holy Church, the spirit, ever so chastened, grew 
calm and resigned. But the tidings of the Norman’s coming, 
and the King’s victorious return to his capital, had reached 
even that still retreat ; and love, which had blent itself with 
religion, led her steps to that lonely altar. And suddenly, 
as she there knelt, only lighted by the moon through the 
high casements, she was startled by the sound of approaching 
feet and murmuring voices. She rose in alarm — the door of 
the church was thrown open — torches advanced — and 
amongst the monks, between Osgood and Aired, came the 
King. He had come, that last night before his march, to in- 
voke the prayers of that pious brotherhood ; and by the altar 
he had founded, to pray, himself, that his one sin of faith for- 
feited and oath abjured, might not palsy his arm and weigh 
on his soul in the hour of his country’s need. 

Edith stifled the cry that rose to her lips, as the torches 
fell on the pale and hushed and melancholy face of Harold ; 
and she crept away under the arch of the vast Saxon 
columns, and into the shade of abutting walls. The monks 
and the King, intent on their holy office, beheld not that 
solitary and shrinking form. Tliey approached the altar ; 
and there the King knelt down lowlily, and none heard the 
prayer. But as Osgood held the sacred rood over the bended 
head of the royal suppliant, the Image on the crucifix (which 
had been a gift from Aired the prelate, and was supposed to 
have belonged of old to Augustine, the first founder of the 
Saxon Church — so that by the superstition of the age, it was 


HAROLD 


3G9 


invested with miraculous virtues) — bowed itself visibly. 
\ isibly_, the pale and ghastly image of the suffering God 
bowed over the head of the kneeling man ; whether the 
fastenings of the rood were loosened, or from what cause 
soever — in the eyes of all the brotherhood, the Image 
bowed. 

A thrill of terror froze every heart, save Edith’s, too 
remote to perceive the portent, and save the King’s, whom 
the omen seemed to doom, for his face was buried in his 
clasped hands. Heavy Mas his heart, nor needed it other 
M^arnings than its omui gloom. 

Long and silently prayed the King ; and when at last he 
rose, and the monks, though with altered and tremulous 
voices, began their closing hymn, Edith passed noiselessly 
along the wall, and, stealing through one of the smaller 
doors M'hich communicated to the nunnery annexed, gained 
the solitude of her own chamber. There she stood, benumbed 
with the strength of her emotions at the sight of Harold 
thus abruptly presented. How had the fond human heart 
leapt to meet him ! Twice, thus, in the august ceremonials 
of Religion, secret, shrinking, unwitnessed, had she, his 
betrothed, she, the partner of his soul, stood aloof to behold 
him. She had seen him in the hour^ his pomp, the crown 
upon his brow — seen him in the hour of his peril and agony, 
that anointed head bowed to the earth. And in the pomp 
that she could not share, she had exulted ; but, oh, now — 
now. — Oh now that she could have knelt beside that humbled 
form, and prayed with that voiceless prayer. 

The torches flashed in the court below ; the church was 
again deserted ; the monks passed in mute procession back 
to their cloister ; but a single man paused, turned aside, and 
stopped at the gate of the humbler convent : a knocking Mas 
heard at the great oaken door, and the watch-dog barked. 
Edith started, pressed her hand on her heart, and trembled. 
Steps approached her door — and the Abbess, entering, sum- 
moned her below, to hear the farewell greeting of her cousin 
the King. 

Harold stood in the simple hall of the cloister : a single 
taper, tall and wan, burned on the oak board. The Abbess 
led Edith by the hand, and, at a sign from the King, with- 
drew. So, once more upon earth, the betrothed and divided 
M ere alone. 

^ Edith,’ said the King, in a voice in which no ear but hers 
could have detected the struggle, ^ do not think I have come 
to disturb thy holy calm, or sinfully revive the memories of 
the irrevocable past : where once on my breast, in the old 
fashion of our fathers, I wrote thy name, is written now the 
2a 


370 


HAROLD 


name of the mistress that supplants thee. Into Eternity 
melts the Past ; but I could not depart to a field from which 
there is no retreat — in which, against odds that men say are 
fearful, I have resolved to set my crown and my life— without 
once more beholding thee, pure guardian of my happier days ! 
Thy forgiveness for all the sorrow that, in the darkness which 
surrounds man’s hopes and dreams, I have brought on thee 
(dread return for love so enduring, so generous and divine !) 
— thy forgiveness I will not ask. Thou alone perhaps on 
earth knowest the soul of Harold ; and if he hath wronged 
thee, thou seest alike in the wronger and the wronged, but 
the children of iron Duty, the servants of imperial Heaven. 
Not thy forgiveness I ask — but — but — Edith, holy maid ! 
angel soul ! — thy — thy blessing ! ’ His voice faltered, and 
he inclined his lofty head as to a saint. 

^ Oh that I had the power to bless ! ’ exclaimed Edith, 
mastering her rush of tears with a heroic effort ; and 
methinks I have the power — not from virtues of my own, 
but from all that I owe to thee ! The grateful have the 
power to bless. For what do I not owe to thee — owe to that 
very love of which even the grief is sacred ? Poor child in 
the house of the heathen, thy love descended upon me, and 
in it, the smile of God ! In that love my spirit awoke, and 
was baptized : every thought that has risen from earth, and 
lost itself in heaven, was breathed into my heart by thee ! 
Thy creature and thy slave, hadst thou tempted me to sin, 
sin had seemed hallowed by thy voice ; but thou saidst. 

True love is virtue,” and so I worshipped virtue in loving 
thee. Strengthened, purified, by thy bright companionship, 
from thee came the strength to resign thee — from thee the 
refuge under the wings of God — from the firm assurance that 
our union yet shall be — not as our poor Hilda dreams, on the 
perishable earth, — but there ! oh, there ! yonder by the 
celestial altars, in the land in which all spirits are filled with 
love. Yes, soul of Harold ! there are might and holiness in the 
blessing the soul thou hast redeemed and reared sheds on thee !’ 

And so beautiful, so unlike the Beautiful of the common 
earth, looked the maid as she thus spoke, and laid hands, 
trembling with no human passion, on that royal head — that 
could a soul from paradise be made visible, such might be the 
shape it would wear to a mortal’s eye ! Thus, for some 
moments both were silent j and in the silence the gloom 
vanished from the heart of Harold, and, through a deep and 
sublime serenity, it rose undaunted to front the future. 

No embrace — no farewell kiss — profaned the parting of 
those pure and noble spirits parting on the threshold of the 
grave. It was only the spirit that clasped the spirit, looking 


HAROLD 


371 

fortli from the clay into measureless eternity. Not till the 
air of night come once more on his brow, and the moonlight 
rested on the roofs and fanes of the land entrusted to his 
charge, was the man once more the human hero ; not till 
she was alone in her desolate chamber, and the terrors of the 
coming battle-field chased the angel from her thoughts, was 
the maid inspired, once more the weeping woman. 

A little after sunrise the Abbess, who was distantly akin to 
the house of Godwin, sought Edith, so agitated by her own 
fear, that she did not remark the trouble of her visitor. The 
supposed miracle of the sacred Image bowing over the 
kneeling King, had spread dismay through the cloisters of 
both nunnery and abbey ; and so intense was the disquietude 
of the two brothers, Osgood and Ailred, in the simple and 
grateful affection they bore their royal benefactor, that they 
had obeyed the impulse of their tender, credulous hearts, 
and left the monastery with the dawn, intending to follow 
the King’s march, and watch and pray near the awful battle- 
field. Edith listened, and made no reply ; the terrors of the 
Abbess infected her ; the example of the two monks woke 
the sole thought which stirred through the nightmare-dream 
that suspended reason itself ; and when, at noon, the Abbess 
again sought the chamber, Edith was gone ; — gone, and 
alone — none knew wherefore — none guessed whither. 

All the pomp of the English army burst upon Harold’s 
view, as, in the rising sun, he approached the bridge of the 
capital. Over that bridge came the stately march — battle- 
axe, and spear, and banner, glittering in the ray. And as 
he drew aside, and the forces defiled before him, the cry of 
^ God save King Harold ! ’ rose with loud acclaim and lusty 
joy, borne over the waves of the river, startling the echoes in 
the ruined keape of the Roman, heard in the halls restored 
by Canute, and chiming, like a chorus, with the chants 
of the monks by the tomb of Sebba in St. Paul’s — by the 
tomb of Edward at St. Peter’s. 

With a brightened face, and a kindling eye, the King 
saluted his lines, and then fell into the ranks towards the 
rear, where, among the burghers of London and the lithsmen 
of Middlesex, the immemorial custom of Saxon monarchs 
placed the kingly banner. And, looking up, he beheld, not 
his old standard with the Tiger heads and the Cross, but a 
banner both strange and gorgeous. On a field of gold was 
the effigies of a Fighting Warrior ; and the arms were be- 
decked in orient pearls, and the borders blazed in the rising 
sun, with ruby, amethyst, and emerald. While he gazed, 
wondering, on this dazzling ensign, Haco, who rode beside 
the standard-bearer, advanced, and gave him a letter. 


372 


HAROLD 


^Last iiiglit/ said he, ^ after thou hadst left the palace, 
many recruits, chiefly from Hertfordshire and Essex, came 
in ; but the most gallant and stalwart of all, in arms and in 
stature, were the lithsmen of Hilda. With them came this 
banner, on which she has lavished the gems that have 
passed to her hands through long lines of northern ancestors, 
from Odin, the founder of all northern thrones. So, at 
least, said the bode of our kinswoman.’ 

Harold had already cut the silk round the letter, and was 
reading its contents. They ran thus : — 

^King of England, I forgive thee the broken heart of my 
grandchild. They whom the land feeds, should defend 
the land. I send to thee, in tribute, the best fruits tliat 
grow in the field and the forest, round the house which my 
husband took from the bounty of Canute ; — stout hearts 
and strong hands ! Descending alike as do Hilda and 
Harold (through Githa thy mother), from the Warrior 
God of the North, whose race never shall fail — take, O 
defender of the Saxon children of Odin, the banner I have 
broidered with the gems that the Chief of the Asas bore 
from the East. Firm as love be thy foot, strong as deatli 
be thy hand, under the shade which the banner of Hilda 
— under the gleam which the Jewels of Odin — cast on the 
brows of the King ! So Hilda, the daughter of monarchs, 
greets Harold, the leader of men.’ 

Harold looked up from the letter, and Haco resumed : — 
^ITiou canst guess not the cheering effect which this 
banner, supposed to be charmed, and which the name of 
Odin alone would suffice to make holy, at least with thy 
fierce Anglo-Danes, hath already produced through the army.’ 

‘ It is well, Haco,’ said Harold with a smile. ^ Let priest 
add his blessing to Hilda’s charm, and Heaven will pardon 
any magic that makes more brave the hearts that defend its 
altars. Now fall we back, for the army must pass beside 
the hill with the crommell and gravestone ; there, l)e sure, 
Hilda will be at watch for our march, and we will linger 
a few moments to thank her somewhat for her banner, yet 
more justly, methinks, for her men. Are not yon stout 
fellows all in mail, so tall and so orderly, in advance of the 
London burghers, Hilda’s aid to our Fyrd ? ’ 

^They are,’ answered Haco. 

The King backed his steed to accost them with his kingly 
greeting ; and then, with Haco, falling yet farther to the 
rear, seemed engaged in inspecting the numerous wains, 
beai-ing missiles and forage, that always accompanied the 
march of a Saxon army, and served to strengthen its en- 
campment. But when they came in sight of the hillock 


HAROLD 


873 


by wliicli the great body of the army had preceded them, 
the King and the son of Sweyn dismounted, and on foot 
entered the large circle of the Celtic ruin. 

By the side of the Teuton altar they beheld two forms, 
both perfectly motionless ; but one was extended on the 
ground as in sleep or in death ; the other sate beside it, as 
if watching the corpse, or guarding the slumber. The face 
of the last was not visible, propped upon the arms which 
rested on the knees, and hidden by the hands. But in the 
face of the other, as the two men drew dear, they recog- 
nised the Danish Prophetess. Death in its dreadest charac- 
ters was written on that ghastly face ; woe and terror, 
beyond all words to describee, spoke in the haggard brow, 
the distorted lips, and the wild glazed stare of the open 
eyes. At the startled cry of the intruders on that dreary 
silence, the living form moved ; and though still leaning 
its face on its hands, it raised its head ; and never counten- 
ance of Northern Vampire, cowering by the rifled grave, 
was more fiendlike and appalling. 

^ Who and what art thou ? ’ said the King ; ^ and how, 
thus unhonoured in the air of heaven, lies the corpse of the 
noble Hilda? Is this the hand of nature? Haco, Haco, 
so look the eyes, so set the features, of those whom the 
horror of ruthless murder slays even before the steel strikes. 
Speak, hag, art thou dumb ? ’ 

^Search the body,’ answered the witch, ^ there is no 
wound ! Look to the throat — no mark of the deadly gripe ! 
I have seen such in my day. There are none on this corpse, 
I trow ; yet thou sayest rightly, horror slew her ! Ha, ha ! 
she would know, and she hath known ; she would raise the 
dead and the demon ; she hath raised them ; she would read 
the riddle — she hath read it. Pale King and dark youth, 
would ye learn what Hilda saw, eh? eh? Ask her in the 
Shadow-World where she awaits ye ! Ha ! ye too would be 
wise in the future ? ye too would climb to heaven through 
the mysteries of hell. Worms ! worms ! crawl back to the 
clay — to the earth ! One such night as the hag ye despise 
enjoys as her sport and her glee, would freeze your veins, 
and sear the life in your eyeballs, and leave your corpses 
to terror and wonder, like the carcase that lies at your feet ! ’ 

^ Ho ! ’ cried the King, stamping his foot. ^ Hence, Haco ; 
rouse the household ; summon hither the handmaids ; call 
henchman and ceorl to guard this foul raven.’ 

Haco obeyed ; but when he returned with the shuddering 
and amazed attendants, the witch was gone, and the King 
was leaning against the altar with downcast eyes, and a face 
troubled and dark with thought. 


m 


HAROLD 


The body of the Vala was borne into the house ; and the 
King, M^aking from his reverie, bade them send for the 
priests, and ordered masses for the parted soul. Then 
kneeling, with pious hand he closed the eyes and smoothed 
the features, and left his mournful kiss on the icy brow. 
These offices fulfilled, he took Haco’s arm, and leaning on 
it, returned to the spot on which they had left their steeds. 
Not evincing surprise or awe — emotions that seemed un- 
known to his gloomy, settled, impassible nature — Haco said 
calmly, as they descended the knoll — 

^ What evil did the old hag predict to thee ? * 

^Haco,’ answered the King, ^yonder, by the shores of 
Sussex, lies all the future which our eyes now should scan, 
and our hearts should be firm to meet. These omens and 
apparitions are but the ghosts of a dead Religion ; spectres 
sent from the grave of the fearful Heathenesse ; they may 
appal but to lure us from our duty. Lo, as we gaze around 
— the ruins of all the creeds that have made the hearts 
of men quake with unsubstantial awe — lo, the temple of the 
Briton ! — lo, the fane of the Roman ! — lo, the mouldering 
altar of our ancestral Thor ! Ages past lie wrecked around 
us in these shattered symbols. A new age hath risen, and 
a new creed. Keep we to the broad truths before us ; duty 
here ; knowledge comes alone in the Hereafter.’ 

^ That Hereafter ! — is it not near ? ’ murmured Haco. 

They mounted in silence ; and ere they regained the 
army, paused, by a common impulse, and looked behind. 
Awful in their desolation rose the temple and the altar ! 
And in Hilda’s mysterious death it seemed that their last 
and lingering Genius — the Genius of the dark and fierce, 
the warlike and the wizard North, had expired for ever. 
Yet, on the outskirt of the forest, dusk and shapeless, that 
witch without a name stood in the shadow, pointing towards 
them, with outstretched arm, in vague and denouncing 
menace ; — as if, come what may, all change of creed — 
be the faith ever so simple, the truth ever so bright and 
clear — there is a superstition native to that Border-land 
between the Visible and the Unseen, which will find its 
priest and its votaries, till the full and crowning splendour 
of Heaven shall melt every shadow from the world ! 


CHAPTER V 

On the broad plain between Pevensey and Hastings, Duke 
AVilliam had arrayed his armaments. In the rear he had 
built a castle of wood, all the framework of which he had 


HAROLD 


brought with him^ and which was to serve as a refuge in case 
of retreat. His ships he had run into deep water, and 
scuttled ; so that the thought of return, without victory, 
might be banished from his miscellaneous and multitudinous 
force. His outposts stretched for miles, keeping watch 
night and day against surprise. The ground chosen was 
adapted for all the manoeuvres of a cavalry never before 
paralleled in England, nor perhaps in the world — almost 
every horseman a knight, almost every knight fit to be a 
chief. And on this space William reviewed his army, and 
there planned and schemed, rehearsed and re-formed, all 
the stratagems the great day might call forth. But most 
careful, and laborious, and minute, was he in the manoeuvre 
of a feigned retreat. Not ere the acting of some modern 
play, does the anxious manager more elaborately marshal 
each man, each look, each gesture, that are to form a 
picture on which the curtain shall fall amidst deafening 
plaudits than did the laborious captain appoint each man, 
and each movement, in his lure to a valiant foe : — The 
attack of the foot, their recoil, their affected panic, their 
broken exclamations of despair ; — their retreat, first partial 
and reluctant, next seemingly hurried and complete — flying, 
but in flight carefully confused : — then the settled watch- 
word, the lightning rally, the rush of the cavalry from the 
ambush ; the sweep and hem round the pursuing foe, the 
detachment of levelled spears to cut off the Saxon return to 
the main force, and the lost ground — were all directed 
by the most consummate mastership in the stage play, or 
upokrisiSf of war, and seized by the adroitness of practised 
veterans. 

Not now, O Harold ! hast thou to contend against the 
rude heroes of the Norse, with their ancestral strategy 
unimproved ! The civilisation of Battle meets thee now ! 
—and all the craft of the Roman guides the manhood of the 
North. 

It was in the midst of such lessons to his foot and his 
horsemen — spears gleaming — pennons tossing — lines re- 
forming — steeds backing, wheeling, flying, circling— that 
William’s eye blazed, and his deep voice thundered the 
thrilling word; when Mallet de Graville, who was in 
command at one of the outposts, rode up to him at full 
speed, and said in gasps, as he drew breath — 

^King Harold and his army are advancing furiously, 
’fheir object is clearly to come on us unawares.’ 

^ Hold ! ’ said the Duke, lifting his head ; and the knights 
around him halted in their perfect discipline ; then after a 
few brief but distinct orders to Odo, Fitzosborne, and some 


37G 


HAROLD 


other of his leading chiefs, he headed a numerous cavalcade 
of his knights, and rode fast to the outpost which Mallet 
had left — to catch sight of the coming foe. 

The horsemen cleared the plain — passed through a wood, 
mournfully fading into autumnal hues — and, on emerging, 
they saw the gleam of the Saxon spears rising on the brows 
of the gentle hills beyond. But even the time, short as 
it was, that had sufficed to bring William in view of the 
enemy, had sufficed also, under the orders of his generals, 
to give to the wide plain of his encampment all the order 
of a host prepared. And William, having now mounted 
on a rising ground, turned from the spears on the hill-tops, 
to his own fast-forming lines on the plain, and said with a 
stern smile — 

‘ Methinks the Saxon usurper, if he be among those on 
the height of yon hills, will vouchsafe us time to breathe ! 
St. Michael gives his crown to our hands and his corpse to 
the crow, if he dare to descend.’ 

And so indeed, as the Duke with a soldier’s eye foresaw 
from a soldier’s skill, so it proved. The spears rested on 
the summits. It soon became evident that the English 
general perceived that here there was no Hardrada to 
surprise ; that the news brought to his ear had exaggerated 
neither the numbers, nor the arms, nor the discipline of 
the Norman ; and that the battle was not to the bold but to 
the wary. 

^He doth right,’ said William, musingly; ^nor think, 
O my Quens, that we shall find a fool’s hot brain under 
Harold’s helmet of iron. How is this broken ground of 
hillock and valley named in our chart ? It is strange that 
we should have overlooked its strength, and suffered it thus 
to fall into the hands of the foe. How is it named ? Can 
any of ye remember ! ’ 

^A Saxon peasant,’ said De Graville, ^told me that the 
ground was called Senlac or Sanglac, or some such name, 
in their musicless jargon.’ 

^ Grammercy ! ’ quoth Grantmesnil, ^ methinks the name 
w ill be familiar eno’ hereafter ; no jargon seemeth the 
sound to my ear — a significant name and ominous — Sanglac, 
Sanguelac — the Lake of Blood.’ 

^ Sanguelac ! ’ said the Duke, startled ; ^ where have I 
heard that name before ? it must have been between sleeping 
and waking — Sanguelac, Sanguelac ! — truly sayest thou, 
through a lake of blood we must wade indeed ! ’ 

^Yet,’ said De Graville, ^ thine astrologer foretold that 
thou wouldst win the realm without a battle.’ 

^Poor astrologer!’ said William, ^the ship he sailed in 


HAROLD 


877 


was lost. Ass indeed is he who pretends to warn others, 
nor sees an inch before his eyes what his own fate will be ! 
Battle shall we have, but not yet. Hark thee, Guillaume, 
thou hast been guest with this usurper ; thou hast seemed 
to me to have some love for him — a love natural since thou 
didst once light by his side ; wilt thou go from me to the 
Saxon host wdth Hugues Maigrot, the monk, and back the 
message I shall send ? ’ 

llie proud and punctilious Norman thrice crossed himself 
ere he answered — 

^ There was a time. Count William, when I should have 
deemed it honour to hold parle wdth Harold the brave Earl ; 
but now', with the crowui on his head, I hold it shame and 
disgrace to barter words with a knight unleal and a man 
forsworn.’ 

^Natheless, thou shalt do me this favour,’ said William, 
^for’ (and he took the knight somewhat aside) cannot 
disguise from thee that I look anxiously on the chance of 
battle. Yon men are flushed with new triumph over the 
greatest warrior Norway ever knew, they will fight on their 
ow’ii soil, and under a chief whom I have studied and read 
w'ith more care than the Comments of Caesar, and in w'hom 
the guilt of perjury cannot blind me to the wit of a great 
general. If w'e can yet get our end without battle, large 
shall be my thanks to thee, and I will hold thine astrologer 
a man wise, though unhappy.’ 

^ Certes,’ said De Graville, gravely, ^ it were discourteous 
to the memory of the star-seer, not to make some effort to 
prove his science a just one. And the Chaldeans ’ 

‘ Plague seize the Chaldeans ! ’ muttered the Duke. ‘ Ride 
with me back to the camp, that I may give thee my message, 
and instruct also the monk.’ 

^De Graville,’ resumed the Duke, as they rode towards 
the lines, ^ my meaning is briefly this. 1 do not think that 
Harold will accept my offers and resign his crown, but I 
design to spread dismay, and perhaps revolt amongst his 
captains ; I wish that they may know that the Church lays 
its Cui’se on those who fight against my consecrated banner. 

I do not ask thee, therefore, to demean thy knighthood, by 
seeking to cajole the usurper ; no, but rather boldly to de- 
nounce his perjury and startle his liegemen. Perchance 
they may compel him to terms — perchance they may desert 
his banner ; at the worst they shall be daunted with full 
sense of the guilt of his cause.’ 

^Ha, now I comprehend thee, noble Count ; and trust me 
I will speak as Norman and knight should speak.’ 

Meanwhile, Harold, seeing the utter hopelessness of all 


378 


HAROLD 


sudden assault^ had seized a general’s advantage of the 
ground he had gained. Occupying the line of hills, he 
began forthwith to entrench himself behind deep ditches 
and artful palisades. It is impossible now to stand on that 
spot, without recognising the military skill with which the 
Saxon had taken his post, and formed his precautions. He 
surrounded the main body of his troops with a perfect breast- 
work against the charge of the horse. Stakes and strong 
hurdles interwoven with osier plaits, and protected by deep 
dykes, served at once to neutralise the effect of that arm in 
which William was most powerful, and in which Harold 
almost entirely failed ; while the possession of the ground 
must compel the foe to march, and to charge, up hill, against 
all the missiles which the Saxons could pour down from their 
entrenchments. 

Aiding, animating, cheering, directing all, while the dykes 
were fast hollowed, and the breastworks fast rose, the King 
of England rode his palfrey from line to line, and work to 
work, when, looking up, he saw Haco leading towards him, 
up the slopes, a monk, and a warrior whom, by the banderol 
on his spear, and the cross on his shield, he knew to be one 
of the Norman knighthood. 

At that moment Gurth and Leofwine, and those thegns 
who commanded counties, were thronging round their chief 
for instructions. The King dismounted, and beckoning 
them to follow, strode towards the spot on which had just 
been planted his royal standard. There halting, he said 
with a grave smile — 

^ I perceive that the Norman Count hath sent us his bodes; 
it is meet that with me, you, the defenders of England, 
should hear what the Norman saith.’ 

‘^If he saith aught but prayer for his men to return to 
Rouen — needless his message, and short our answer,’ said 
Vebba, the bluff thegn of Kent. 

Meanwhile the monk and the Norman knight drew near, 
and paused at some short distance, while Haco, advancing, 
said briefly — 

^ These men I found at our outposts ; they demand to 
speak with the King.’ 

^ Under his standard the King will hear the Norman in- 
vader,’ replied Harold; ^bid them speak.’ 

The same sallow, mournful, ominous countenance, which 
Harold had before seen in the halls of Westminster, rising 
deathlike above the serge garb of the Benedict of Caen, now • 
presented itself, and the monk thus spoke — 

^In the name of William, Duke of the Normans in the 
field. Count of Rouen in the hall. Claimant of all the realms 


HAROLD 879 

of Anglia^ Scotland^ and the Walloons, held under Edward 
his cousin, I come to thee, Harold his liege and Earl.’ 

^Change thy titles, or depart,’ said Harold, fiercely, his 
brow no longer mild in its majesty, but dark as midnight. 
^ What says William the Count of the Foreigners, to Harold, 
King of the Angles, and Basileus of Britain.^’ 

^ Protesting against thy assumption, I answ^er thee thus,’ 
. said Hugues Maigrot. ^ First, again he offers thee all 
Northumbria, up to the realm of the Scottish sub-king, if 
thou wilt fulfil thy vow and cede him the crowm.’ 

‘ Already have 1 answered — the crown is not mine to give; 
and my people stand round me in arms to defend the king 
of their choice. What next } ’ 

^Next, offers William to withdraw his troops from the 
land, if thou and thy council and chiefs will submit to the 
arbitrement of our most holy Pontiff, Alexander the Second, 
and abide by his decision whether thou or my liege have the 
best right to the throne.’ 

^This, as Churchman,’ said the Abbot of the great Convent 
of Peterboro’ (who, with the Abbot of Hide, had joined the 
march of Harold, deeming as one the cause of altar and 
throne), ‘ this, as Churchman, may / take leave to answer. 
Never yet hath it been heard in England, that the spiritual 
suzerain of Rome should give us our kings.’ 

^And,’ said Harold, with a bitter smile, ^the Pope hath 
already summoned me to this trial, as if the laws of England 
were kept in the rolls of the Vatican ! Already, if rightly 
informed, the Pope hath been pleased to decide that our 
Saxon land is the Norman’s. I reject a judge without a 
right to decide ; and I mock at a sentence that profanes 
heaven in its insult to men. Is this all ? ’ 

^One last offer yet remains,’ replied the monk, sternly. 

‘ This knight shall deliver its import. But ere I depart, and 
thou and thine are rendered up to Vengeance Divine, I speak 
the words of a mightier chief than William of Rouen. Thus 
saith his Holiness, with whom rests the power to bind and to 
loose, to bless and to curse : — Harold the Perjurer, thou 
art accursed ! On thee and on all who lift hand in thy 
cause, rests the interdict of the Church. Thou art excom- 
municated from the family of Christ. On thy land, wdth its 
peers and its people, yea, to the beast in the field and the 
bird in the air, to the seed as the sower, the harvest as the 
reaper, rests God’s anathema ! The bull of the Vatican is 
in the tent of the Norman ; the gonfanon of St. Peter 
hallows yon armies to the service of Heaven. March on, 
then : ye march as the Assyrian ; and the angel of the Lord 
awaits ye on the way ! ” ’ 


380 


HAROLD 


At these words^ wliich for tlie first time apprised the 
English leaders that their king and kingdom were under the 
awful ban of excommunication, the thegns and abbots gazed 
on each other aghast. A visible shudder passed over the 
whole warlike conclave, save only three, Harold, and Gurth, 
and Haco. 

The King himself was so moved by indignation at the 
insolence of the monk, and by scorn at the fulmen, which, 
resting not alone on his own head, presumed to blast the 
liberties of a nation, that he strode towards the speaker, and 
it is even said of him by the Norman chroniclers, that he 
raised his hand as if to strike the denouncer to the earth. 

But Gurth interposed, and with his clear eye serenely 
shining with virtuous passion, he stood betwixt monk and 
king. 

^ O thou,* he exclaimed, ^ with the words of religion on 
thy lips, and the devices of fraud in thy heart, hide thy 
front in thy cowl, and slink back to thy master. Heai-d ye 
not, thegns and abbots, heard ye not this bad, false man 
offer, as if for peace, and as with the desire of justice, that 
the Pope should arbitrate between your King and the 
Norman ? yet all the while the monk knew that the Pope 
had already predetermined the cause ; and had ye fallen 
into the wile, ye would but have cowered under the verdict 
of a judgment that has presumed, even before it invoked 
ye to the trial, to dispose of a free people and an ancient 
kingdom!’ 

^ It is true, it is true,’ cried the thegns, rallying from their 
first superstitious terror, and, with their plain English sense 
of justice, revolted at the perfidy which the priest’s overtures 
had concealed. ^ We will hear no more ; away with the 
Swikebode.’ 

The pale cheek of the monk turned yet paler, he seemed 
abashed by the storm of resentment he had provoked ; and 
in some fear, perhaps, at the dark faces bent on him, he 
slunk behind his comrade the knight, who as yet had said 
nothing, but, his face concealed by his helmet, stood motion- 
less like a steel statue. And, in fact, these two ambassadors, 
the one in his monk garb, the other in his iron array, were 
types and representatives of the two forces now brought to 
bear upon Harold and England — Chivalry and the Church. 

At the momentary discomfiture of the Priest, now stood 
forth the Warrior ; and, throwing back his helmet, so that 
the whole steel cap rested on the nape of his neck, leaving 
the haughty face and half-shaven head bare. Mallet de 
Graville thus spoke : — 

‘^Tlie ban of the Church is against ye, warriors and chiefs 


HAROLD 


381 


of England, but for the crime of one man ! Remove it from 
yourselves : on his single head be the curse and the conse- 
quence. Harold, called King of England — failing the two 
milder offers of my comrade, thus saith from the lips of his 
knight (once thy guest, thy admirer, and friend), thus saith 
William the Norman: Though sixty thousand warriors 
under the banner of the Apostle wait at his beck (and from 
what I see of thy force, thou canst marshal to thy guilty 
side scarce a third of the number), yet will Count William 
lay aside all advantage, save what dwells in strong arm and 
good cause ; and here, in presence of thy thegns, I challenge 
thee in his name to decide the sway of this realm by single 
battle. On horse and in mail, with sword and with spear, 
knight to knight, man to man, wilt thou meet William the 
Norman ? ” ’ 

Before Harold could reply, and listen to the first impulse 
of a valour, which his worst Norman maligner, in the after 
day of triumphant calumny, never so lied as to impugn, the 
thegns themselves, almost with one voice, took up the reply. 

^No strife between a man and a man shall decide the 
liberties of thousands ! ’ 

^ Never!’ exclaimed Gurth. ^It were an insult to the 
whole people to regard this as a strife between two chiefs — 
which should wear a crown. When the invader is in our 
land, the war is with a nation, not a king. And, by the 
very offer, this Norman Count (who cannot even speak our 
tongue) shows how little he knows of the laws, by which, 
under our native kings, we have all as great an interest as a 
king himself in our Fatherland.’ 

^ Thou hast heard the answer of England from those lips. 
Sire de Graville,’ said Harold : ^ mine but repeat and sanction 
it. I will not give the crown to William in lieu for disgrace 
and an Earldom. I will not abide by the arbitrement of a 
Pope who has dared to affix a curse upon freedom. I will 
not so violate the principle which in these realms knits king 
and people, as to arrogate to my single arm the right to 
dispose of the birthriglit of the living, and their races un- 
born ; nor will I deprive the meanest soldier under my 
banner of the joy and the glory to fight for his native land. 
If William seek me, he shall find me, where war is the 
fiercest, where the corpses of his men lie the thickest on the 
plains, defending this standard, or rushing on his own. 
And so, not Monk and Pope, but God in his wisdom, 
adjudge between us ! ’ 

^So be it,’ said Mallet de Graville, solemnly, and his 
helmet reclosed over his face. ^ Look to it, recreant knight, 
perjured Christian, and usurping King! The bones of the 
Dead fight against thee.’ 


382 


HAROLD 


^ And the flesliless hands of the Saints marshal the hosts 
of the living/ said the Monk. 

And so the messengers turned, without obeisance or salute, 
and strode silently away. 


CHAPTER VI 

The rest of that day, and the whole of the next, were con- 
sumed by both armaments in the completion of their prepar- 
ations. 

William was willing to delay the engagement as long as 
he could ; for he was not without hope that Harold might 
abandon his formidable position, and become the assailing 
party ; and, moreover, he wished to have full time for his 
prelates and priests to inflame to the utmost, by their repre- ' 
sentations of William’s moderation in his embassy, and 
Harold’s presumptuous guilt in rejection, theflery fanaticism 
of all enlisted under the gonfanon of the Church. 

On the other hand, every delay was of advantage to 
Harold, in giving him leisure to render his entrenchments 
yet more effectual, and to allow time for such reinforcements 
as his orders had enjoined, or the patriotism of the country 
might arouse ; but, alas ! those reinforcements were scanty 
and insignificant ; a few stragglers in the immediate neigh- 
bourhood arrived, but no aid came from London, no indig- 
nant country poured forth a swarming population. In fact, 
the very fame of Harold, and the good fortune that had 
hitherto attended his arms, contributed to the stupid lethargy 
of the people. That he who had just subdued the terrible 
Norsemen, with the mighty Hardrada at their head, should \ 
succumb to those dainty ‘ Frenchmen,’ as they chose to call 
the Normans ; of whom, in their insular ignorance of the 
Continent, they knew but little, and whom they had seen 
flying in all directions at the return of Godwin ; was a pre- 
posterous demand on the imagination. 

Nor was this all : in London, there had already formed 
a cabal in favour of the Atheling. The claims of birth can 
never be so wholly set aside, but what, even for the most 
unworthy heir of an ancient line, some adherents will be 
found. The prudent traders thought it best not to engage 
actively on behalf of the reigning King, in his present 
combat with the Norman pretender ; a large number of 
would-be statesmen thought it best for the country to 
remain for the present neutral. Grant the worst — grant 


HAROLD 


383 


that Harold were defeated or slain ; would it not be wise to 
reserve their strength to support the Atheling? William 
might have some personal cause of quarrel against Harold, 
but he could have none against Edgar ; he might depose 
the son of Godwin, but could he dare to depose the 
descendant of Cerdic, the natural heir of Edward? There 
is reason to think that Stigand, and a large party of the 
Saxon Churchmen, headed this faction. 

But the main causes for defection were not in adherence 
to one chief or to another. They were to be found in 
selfish inertness, in stubborn conceit, in the long peace, 
and the enervate superstition which had relaxed the sinews 
of the old Saxon manhood ; in that indifference to things 
ancient, which contempt for old names and races en- 
gendered ; that timorous spirit of calculation, which the 
over-regard for wealth had fostered ; which made men 
averse to leave trade and farm for the perils of the field, 
and jeopardise their possessions if the foreigner should 
prevail. 

Accustomed already to kings of a foreign race, and 
having fared well under Canute, there were many who 
said, ^What matters who sits on the throne.^ the king 
must be equally bound by our laws.’ Then too was heard 
the favourite argument of all slothful minds : Time 
enough yet ! one battle lost is not England won. Marry, 
we shall turn out fast eno’ if Harold be beaten.’ 

Add to all these causes for apathy and desertion, the 
haughty jealousies of the several populations not yet wholly 
fused into one empire. The Northumbrian Danes, untaught 
even by their recent escape from the Norwegian, regarded 
with ungrateful coldness a war limited at present to the 
southern coasts ; and the vast territory under Mercia was, 
with more excuse, equally supine ; while their two young 
Earls, too new in their command to have much sway with 
their subject populations, had they been in their capitals, 
had now arrived in London ; and there lingered, making 
head, doubtless, against the intrigues in favour of the 
Atheling — so little had Harold’s marriage with Aldyth 
brought him, at the hour of his dreadest need, the power 
for which happiness had been resigned ! 

Nor must we put out of account, in summing the causes 
which at this awful crisis weakened the arm of England, 
the curse of slavery amongst the theowes, which left the 
lowest part of the population wholly without interest in the 
defence of the land. Too late— too late for all but un- 
availing slaughter, the spirit of the country rose amidst 
the violated pledges, but under the iron heel, of the Norman 


384 


HAROLD 


Master ! Had that spirit put forth all its might for one 
day with Harold, where had been the centuries of bondage ! 
Oh, shame to the absent — All blessed those present ! There 
was no hope for England out of the scanty lines of the 
immortal army encamped on the field of Hastings. There, 
long on earth, and vain vaunts of poor pride, shall be kept 
the roll of the robber-invaders. In what roll are your 
names, holy Heroes of the Soil.^ Yes, may the prayer of 
the Virgin Queen be registered on high ; and assoiled of 
all sin, O ghosts of the glorious Dead, may ye rise from 
your graves at the trump of the angel ; and your names, 
lost on earth, shine radiant and stainless amidst the 
Hierarchy of Heaven ! 

Dull came the shades of evening, and pale through the 
rolling clouds glimmered the rising stars ; when — all pre- 
pared, all arrayed — Harold sat, with Haco and Gurth, in 
his tent; and before them stood a man, half French by 
origin, who had just returned from the Norman camp. 

^ So thou didst mingle vvdth the men undiscovered } ’ said 
the King. 

^No, not undiscovered, my lord. 1 fell in with a knight, 
whose name I have since heard as that of Mallet de Graville, 
who wilily seemed to believe in what I stated, and who 
gave me meat and drink, with debonair courtesy. Then 
said he abruptly — ^^Spy from Harold, thou hast come to 
see the strength of the Norman. Thou shalt have thy will 
— follow me.” Therewith he led me, all startled I own, 
through the lines ; and, O King, I should deem them 
indeed countless as the sands, and resistless as the waves, 
but that, strange as it may seem to thee, I saw more monks 
than warriors.’ 

^How ! thou jestest !’ said Gurth, surprised. 

^No; for thousands by thousands, they were praying 
and kneeling ; and their heads were all shaven with the 
tonsure of priests.’ 

^Priests are they not,’ cried Harold, with his calm 
smile, ^but doughty warriors and dauntless knights.’ 

llien he continued his questions to the spy ; and his 
smile vanished at the accounts, not only of the numbers of 
the force, but their vast provision of missiles, and the 
almost incredible proportion of their cavalry. 

As soon as the spy had been dismissed, the King turned 
to his kinsmen. 

^AVhat think you.^’ he said; ^ shall we judge ourselves 
of the foe? The night will be dark anon — our steeds are 
fleet — and not shod with iron like the Normans’ — the 
sward noiseless — What think you ? ’ 


HAROLD 


885 


^ A merry conceit/ cried the blithe Leofwiiie. ^ I should 
like much to see the boar in his den, ere he taste of my 
spear-point.’ 

^And I,’ said Gurth, ^do feel so restless a fever in my 
veins, that I would fain cool it by the night air. Let us 
go : I know all the ways of the country ; for hither have I 
come often with hawk and hound. But let us wait yet till 
the night is more hushed and deep.’ 

The clouds had gathered over the whole surface of the 
skies, and there hung sullen ; and the mists were cold and 
grey on the lower grounds, when the four Saxon chiefs set 
forth on their secret and perilous enterprise. 

‘ Knights and riders took they none, 

Squires and varlets of foot not one ; 

All unarmed of weapon and weed, 

Save the shield, and spear, and the sword at need.’ ^ 

Passing their own sentinels, they entered a wood, Gurth 
leading the way, and catching glimpses, through the 
irregular path, of the blazing lights, that shone red over 
the pause of the Norman war. 

William had moved on his army to within about two 
miles from the farthest outpost of the Saxon, and con- 
tracted his lines into compact space ; the reconnoiterers 
were thus enabled, by the light of the links and watchfires, 
to form no inaccurate notion of the formidable foe whom 
the morrow was to meet. The ground^ on which they 
stood was high, and in the deep shadow of the wood ; with 
one of the large dykes common to the Saxon boundaries in 
front, so that, even if discovered, a barrier not easily passed 
lay between them and the foe. 

In regular lines and streets extended huts of branches 
for the meaner soldiers, leading up, in serried rows but 
broad vistas, to the tents of the knights, and the gaudier 
pavilions of the counts and prelates. There, were to be 
seen the flags of Bretagne and Anjou, of Burgundy, of 
Flanders, even the ensign of France, which the volunteers 
from that country had assumed ; and right in the midst of 
this Capital of War, the gorgeous pavilion of William 
himself, with a dragon of gold before it, surmounting the 

^ ‘ Ne meinent od els chevalier, 

Varlet k pie ne eskuier 
Ne nul d^els n’a armes portee, 

Forz sol escu, lance, et espee.’ 

Roman de Ron, Second Part, v. 12, 126. 

2 ‘ Ke d’une angarde u ils ’estuient 
Cels de Tost virent, ki pres furent. 

Roman de Ron, Second Part, v. 12, 126. 

2b 


886 


HAROLD 


staff, from which blazed the Papal goiifaiioii. In every 
division they heard the anvils of the armourers, the 
measured tread of the sentries, the neigh and snort of 
innumerable steeds. And along the lines, between hut and 
tent, they saw tall shapes passing to and from the forge 
and smithy, bearing mail, and swords, and shafts. No 
sound of revel, no laugh of wassail was heard in the con- 
secrated camp ; all was astir, but with the grave and earnest 
preparations of thoughtful men. As the four Saxons halted 
silent, each might have heard, through the remoter din, 
the other’s painful breathing. 

At length, from two tents, placed to the right and left of 
the Duke’s pavilion, there came a sweet tinkling sound, as 
of deep silver bells. At that note there was an evident and 
universal commotion throughout the armament. The roar 
of the hammers ceased ; and, from every green hut and 
every grey tent, sw'armed the host. Now', rows of living 
men lined the camp-streets, leaving still a free, though 
narrow passage in the midst. And, by the blaze of more 
than a thousand torches, the Saxons saw processions of 
priests, in their robes and aubes, with censer and rood, 
coming down the various avenues. As the priests paused, 
the warriors knelt ; and there was a low murmur as if of 
confession, and the sign of lifted hands, as if in absolution 
and blessing. Suddenly, from the outskirts of the camp, 
and full in sight, emerged, from one of the cross lanes, 
Odo of Bayeux himself, in his wdiite surplice, and the cross 
in his right hand. Yea, even to the meanest and lowliest 
soldiers of the armament, whether taken from honest craft 
and peaceful calling, or the outpourings of Europe’s sinks 
and sewers, catamarans from the Alps, and cut-throats 
from the Rhine — yea, even among the vilest and the 
meanest, came the anointed brother of the great Duke, the 
haughtiest prelate in Christendom, whose heart even then 
was fixed on the Pontiff’s throne — there he came, to absolve, 
and to shrive, and to bless. And the red watchfires streamed 
on his proud face and spotless robes, as the Children of 
AYrath knelt around the Delegate of Peace. 

Harold’s hand clenched firm on the arm of Gurth, and 
his old scorn of the monk broke forth in his bitter smile and 
his muttered words. But Gurth’s face w as sad and awed. 

And now, as the huts and the canvas thus gave up the 
living, they could indeed behold the enormous disparity of 
numbers with which it w^as their doom to contend, and 
over those numbers, that dread intensity of zeal, that 
sublimity of fanaticism, which from one end of that war- 
town to the otlier, consecrated injustice, gave the heroism 


HAROLD 387 

of the martyr to ambition, and blended tlie whisper of 
lusting avarice wdth the self-applauses of the saint ! 

Not a word said the four Saxons. Rut as the priestly 
procession glided to the farther quarters of the armament, 
as the soldiers in their neighbourhood disappeared within 
their lodgments, and the torches moved from them to the 
more distant vistas of the camp, like lines of retreating 
stars, Gurth heaved a heavy sigh, and turned his horse’s 
head from the scene. 

But scarce had they gained the centre of the wood, than 
there rose, as from the heart of the armament, a swell of 
solemn voices. For the night had now come to the third 
watch, in which, according to the belief of the age, angel 
and fiend w ere alike astir, and that church-division of time 
was marked and hallowed by a monastic hymn. 

Inexpressibly grave, solemn, and mournful came the strain 
through the drooping boughs, and the heavy darkness of 
the air ; and it continued to thrill in the ears of the riders 
till they had passed the wood, and the cheerful watchfires 
from their own heights broke upon them to guide their 
w'ay. They rode rapidly, but still in silence, past their 
sentries ; and, ascending the slopes, where the force lay 
thick, how different were the sounds that smote them ! 
Round the large fires the men grouped in great circles, 
with the ale-horns and flagons passing merrily from hand 
to hand ; shouts of drink-hael and w as-hsel, bursts of gay 
laughter, snatches of old songs, old as the days of Athelstan 
— varying, where the Anglo-Danes lay, into the far more 
animated and kindling poetry of the Pirate North — still 
spoke of the heathen time when War was a joy, and 
Valhalla was the heaven. 

^By my faith,’ said Leofwdne, brightening; ^ these are 
sounds and sights that do a man’s heart good, after those 
doleful ditties, and the long faces of the shavelings. I 
VOW' by St. Alban, that I felt my veins curdling into ice- 
bolts, when that dirge came through the woodholt. Hollo, 
Sexw'olf, my tall man, lift us up that full horn of thine, 
and keep thyself within the pins. Master Wassailer ; w'e 
must have steady feet and cool heads to-morrow.’ 

Sexw'olf, who, wdth a band of Harold’s veterans, was at 
full carousal, started up at the young Earl’s greetings, and 
looked lovingly into his smiling face as he reached him the 
horn. 

^ Heed what my brother bids thee, Sexwolf,’ said Harold, 
severely ; ^ the hands that draw shafts against us to-morrow 
will not tremble with the night’s wassail.’ 

^Nor ours either, my lord the King,’ said Sexwolf, 


388 


HAROLD 


boldly ; ^ our beads can bear both drink and blows — and ’ 
(sinking his voice into a whisper) ^the rumour runs that 
the odds are so against us, that 1 would not, for all thy fair 
brothers’ earldoms, have our men other than blithe to-night. ’ 

Harold answered not, but moved on, and coming then 
w ithin full sight of the bold Saxons of Kent, the unmixed 
sons of the Saxon soil, and the special favourers of the 
House of Godwin, so affectionate, hearty, and cordial was 
their joyous shout of his name, that he felt his kingly heart 
leap within him. Dismounting, he entered the circle, and 
with the august frankness of a noble chief, nobly popular, 
gave to all, cheering smile and animating word. That 
done, he said more gravely : ^ In less than an hour, all 
w'assail must cease — my bodes w ill come round ; and then 
sound sleep, my brave merry men, and lusty rising with 
the lark ! ’ 

^As you will, as you wdll, dear our King,’ cried Vebba, 
as spokesman for the soldiers. ^Fear us not — life and 
death, we are yours.’ 

‘ Life and death yours, and freedom’s,’ cried the Kent 
men. 

Coming now tow^ards the royal tent beside the standard, 
the discipline was more perfect, and the hush decorous. 
For round that standard w ere both the special body-guard of 
the King and the volunteers from London and Middlesex ; 
men more intelligent than the bulk of the army, and more 
gravely aware, therefore, of the might of the Norman 
sw'ord. 

Harold entered his tent, and threw himself on his couch, 
in deep reverie ; his brothers and Haco watched him silently. 
At length, Gurth approached ; and, with a reverence rare 
in the familiar intercourse betw^een the two, knelt at his 
brother’s side, and taking Harold’s hand in his, looked him 
full in the face, his eyes moist with tears, and said thus — 

^ Oh, Harold ! never prayer have I asked of thee, that 
thou hast not granted : grant me this ! sorest of all, it'may 
be, to grant, but most fitting of all for me to press, ’fliink 
not, O beloved brother, O honoured King, think not it is 
with slighting reverence, that I lay rough hand on the 
wound deepest at thy heart. But, however surprised or 
compelled, sure it is that thou didst make oath to William, 
and upon the relics of saints ; avoid this battle, for I see 
that thought is now wdthin thy soul ; that thought haunted 
thee in the w ords of the monk to-day ; in the sight of that 
awful camp to-night ; avoid this battle ! and do not thyself 
stand in arms against the man to whom the oath was 
pledged ! ’ 


HAROLD 


.389 


^Gurtli, Gurtli !’ exclaimed Harold, pale and writhing. 

^ We,’ continued his brother, ^we at least have taken no 
oath, no perjury is charged against us ; vainly the thunders 
of the Vatican are launched on our heads. Our war is 
just : w^e but defend our country. Leave us, then, to fight 
to-morrow ; thou retire towards London and raise fresh 
armies ; if we win, the danger is past ; if we lose, thou wilt 
avenge us. And England is not lost while thou survivest.’ 

^^Gurth, Gurth !’ again exclaimed Harold, in a voice 
piercing in its pathos of reproach. 

^ Gurth counsels well,’ said Haco, abruptly; Uhere can 
be no doubt of the wisdom of his words. Let the King’s 
kinsmen lead the troops ; let the King himself w ith his 
guards hasten to London, and ravage and lay waste the 
country as he retreats by the w^ay ; so that even if William 
beat us, all supplies will fail him ; he will be in a land with- 
out forage, and victory here will aid him nought ; for you, 
my liege, will have a force equal to his own, ere he can 
march to the gates of London.’ 

^ Faith and troth, the young Haco speaks like a grey- 
beard ; he hath not lived in Rouen for nought,’ quoth 
Leofwine. ‘^Hear him, my Harold, and leave us to shave 
the Normans yet more closely than the barber hath already 
shorn. ’ 

Harold turned ear and eye to each of the speakers, and, 
as Leofwine closed, he smiled. 

^ Ye have chid me well, kinsmen, for a thought that had 
entered into my mind ere ye spake ’ 

Gurth interrupted the King, and said anxiously — 

^To retreat with the whole army upon London, and refuse 
to meet the Norman till w ith numbers more fairly matched !’ 

^ That had been my thought,’ said Harold, surprised. 

^ Such for a moment, too, was mine,’ said Gurth, sadly ; 
^but it is too late. Such a measure, now, would have all 
the disgrace of flight, and bring none of the profits of 
retreat. The ban of the Church would get wind ; our 
priests, awed and alarmed, might wield it against us ; the 
whole population would be damped and disheartened ; rivals 
to the crown might start up ; the realm be divided. No, it 
is impossible ! ’ 

^Impossible,’ said Harold, calmly. ^And if the army 
cannot retreat, of all men to stand firm, surely it is the 
captain and the King. 7, Gurth, leave others to dare the 
fate from which I fly ! I give weight to the impious curse 
of the Pope, by shrinking from its idle blast ! I confirm 
and ratify the oath, from which all law must absolve me, 
by forsaking the cause of the land w'hich I purify myself 


HAROLD 


390 

when I guard ! I leave to others the agony of the martyrdom 
or the glory of the conquest ! Gurth, thou art more cruel 
than the Norman ! And son of Sweyn, I ravage the land 
committed to my charge, and despoil the fields which I 
cannot keep ! Oh, Haco, that indeed were to be the traitor 
and the recreant ! No, whatever the sin of my oath, never 
will I believe that Heaven can punish millions for the error 
of one man. Let the bones of the dead war against us ; in 
life, they were men like ourselves, and no saints in the 
calendar so holy as the freemen who fight for their hearths 
and their altars. Nor do I see aught to alarm us even in 
these grave human odds. We have but to keep fast these 
entrenchments ; preserve, man by man, our invincible line ; 
and the waves will but split on our rock : ere the sun set 
to-morrow, we shall see the tide ebb, leaving, as waifs, but 
the dead of the baffled invader. 

^ Fare ye well, loving kinsmen ; kiss me, my brothers ; 
kiss me on the cheek, my Haco. Go now to your tents. 
Sleep in peace, and wake with the trumpet to the gladness 
of noble war ! ’ 

Slowly the Earls left the King ; slowest of all the linger- 
ing Gurth ; and when all were gone, and Harold was alone, 
he threw round a rapid, troubled glance, and then, hurrying 
to the simple imageless crucifix that stood on its pedestal at 
the farther end of the tent, he fell on his knees, and faltered 
out, while his breast heaved, and his frame shook with the 
travail of his passion — 

^ If my sin be beyond a pardon, my oath without recall, 
on me, on me, O Lord of Hosts, on me alone the doom. 
Not on them, not on them — not on England ! ’ 


CHAPTER VII 

On the fourteenth of October 1066, the day of St. Calixtus, 
the Norman force was drawn out in battle array. Mass had 
been said ; Odo and the Bishop of Coutance had blessed the 
troops ; and received tlieir vow never more to eat flesh on 
the anniversary of that day. And Odo had mounted his 
snow-white charger, and already drawn up the cavalry 
against the coming of his brother the Duke. The army was 
marshalled in three great divisions. 

Roger de Montgommeri and William Fitzosborne led the 
first ! and with them were the forces from Picardy and 
the countship of Boulogne, and the fiery Franks ; Geoffric 


HAROLD 


noi 

Martel and the German Hugues (a prince of fame) ; Aimeri, 
Lord of Thouars, and the sons of Alain Fergant, Duke of 
Bretagne, led the second, which comprised the main bulk 
of the allies from Bretagne, and Maine, and Poitou. But 
both these divisions were intermixed with Normans, under 
their own special Norman chiefs. 

ITie third section embraced the flower of martial Europe, 
the most renowned of the Norman race ; whether those 
knights bore the French titles into which their ancestral 
Scandinavian names had been transformed — Sires of Beaufou 
and Harcourt, Abbeville, and de Molun, Montfichet, Grant- 
mesnil, Lacie, D’Aincourt, and D’Asnieres ; or whether, 
still preserving, amidst their daintier titles, the old names 
that had scattered dismay through the seas of the Baltic ; 
Osborne and Tonstain, Mallet and Bulver, Brand and Bruse. 
And over this division presided Duke William. Here was 
the main body of the matchless cavalry, to which, however, 
orders were given to support either of the other sections, as 
need might demand. And with this body were also the 
reserve. For it is curious to notice, that William’s strategy 
resembled in much that of the last great Invader of Nations 
— relying first upon the effect of the charge ; secondly, upon 
a vast reserve brought to bear at the exact moment on the 
weakest point of the foe. 

All the horsemen were in complete link or net mail, armed 
with spears and strong swords, and long, pear-shaped shields, 
with the device either of a cross or a dragon. The archers, 
on whom William greatly relied, were numerous in all three 
of the corps, were armed more lightly — helms on their heads, 
but with leather or quilted breastplates, and ^panels,’ or 
gaiters, for the lower limbs. 

But before the chiefs and captains rode to their several 
posts, they assembled round William, whom Fitzosborne 
had called betimes, and who had not yet endued his heavy 
mail, that all men might see suspended from his throat 
certain relics chosen out of those on which Harold had 
pledged his fatal oath. Standing on an eminence in front 
of all his lines, the consecrated banner behind him, and 
Bayard, his Spanish destrier, held by his squires at his side, 
the Duke conversed cheerily with his barons, often pointing 
to the relics. Then, in sight of all, he put on his mail, and, 
by the haste of his squires, the back-piece was presented to 
him first. The superstitious Normans recoiled as at an 
evil omen. 

^Tut!" said the ready chief ; ‘not in omens and divina- 
tions, but in God, trust I ! Yet, good omen indeed is this, 
and one that may give heart to the most doubtful, for it 


392 


HAROLD 


betokens that the last shall be first— the dukedom a kingdom 
— the count a king ! Ho there, Rou de Terni, as Hereditary 
Standard-bearer take thy right, and hold fast to yon holy 
gonfanon. ’ 

^ Grant merci,* said De Terni, ^not to-day shall a standard 
be borne by me, for I shall have need of my right arm for 
my sword, and my left for my charger’s rein and my trusty 
shield.’ 

‘ Thou sayest right, and we can ill spare such a warrior. 
Gautier GifFart, Sire de Longueville, to thee is the gonfanon.’ 

^ Beau Sire/ answered Gautier; ^ par Dex, Merci. But 
my head is grey and my arm weak ; and the little strength 
left me I would spend in smiting the English at the head of 
my men.’ 

‘Per la resplendar cried .William, frowning; ^do ye 
think, my proud vavasours, to fail me in this great need } ’ 

‘^Nay,’ said Gautier ; ‘ but I have a great host of chevaliers 
and paid soldiers, and without the old man at their head 
will they fight as well ? ’ 

‘^Then, approach thou, Tonstain le Blanc, son of Rou,’ 
said William ; ‘ and be thine the charge of a standard that 
shall wave ere nightfall over the broM’s of thy — King ! ’ A 
young knight, tall and strong as his Danish ancestor, stept 
forth, and laid gripe on the banner. 

Then William, now completely armed, save his helmet, 
sprang at one bound on his steed. A shout of admiration 
rang from the Quens and knights. 

‘ Saw ye ever such heau rei}' said the Vicomte de Thouars. 

The shout was caught by the lines, and echoed far, wide, 
and deep through the armament, as in all his singular 
majesty of brow and mien, William rode forth : lifting his 
hand, the shout hushed, and thus he spoke Moud as a 
trumpet with a silver sound ’ — 

‘Normans and soldiers, long renowned in the lips of men, 
and now hallowed by the blessing of the Church ! — I have 
not brought you over the wide seas for my cause alone ; 
what I gain, ye gain. If I take the land, you will share it. 
Fight your best, and spare not ; no retreat, and no quarter ! 
I am not come here for my cause alone, but to avenge our 
whole nation for the felonies of yonder English. Tliey 
butchered our kinsmen the Danes, on the night of St. 
Brice; they murdered Alfred, the brother of their last 
King, and decimated the Normans who were with him. 
Yonder they stand — malefactors that await their doom ! 
and ye the doomsmen ! Never, even in a good cause, w’ere 
yon English illustrious for warlike temper and martial 
glory. Remember how easily the Danes subdued them | 


H A 11 0 L D 


393 


Are ye less than Danes^ or I than Canute ? By victory ye 
obtain vengeance, glory, honours, lands, spoil — ay, spoil 
beyond your wildest dreams. By defeat — yea, even but 
by loss of ground, ye are given up to the sword ! Escape 
there is not, for the ships are useless. Before you the foe, 
behind you the ocean ! Normans, remember the feats of 
your countrymen in Sicily ! Behold a Sicily more rich ! 
Lordships and lands to the living — glory and salvation to 
those who die under the gonfanon of the Church ! On, to 
the cry of the Norman warrior ; the cry before which have 
fled so often the prowest Paladins of Burgundy and France 
— “ Notre Dame et Dex aide ! ” ’ 

Meanwhile, no less vigilant, and in his own strategy no 
less skilful, Harold had marshalled his men. He formed 
two divisions ; those in front of the entrenchments ; those 
within it. At the first the men of Kent, as from time 
immemorial, claimed the honour of the van, under ^the 
Pale Charger ’ — famous banner of Hengist. Tliis force was 
drawn up in the form of the Anglo-Danish wedge ; the 
foremost lines in the triangle all in heavy mail, armed with 
their great axes, and covered by their immense shields. 
Behind these lines, in the interior of the wedge, were the 
archers, protected by the front rows of the heavy armed ; 
while the few horsemen — few indeed compared with the 
Norman cavalry — were artfully disposed where they could 
best harass and distract the formidable chivalry with which 
they vrere instructed to skirmish, and not peril actual en- 
counter. Other bodies of the light-armed : slingers, javelin 
throwers, and ai-chers, were planted in spots carefully 
selected, according as they were protected by trees, bush- 
wood, and dykes. , The Northumbrians (that is, all the 
warlike population north the Humber, including Yorkshire, 
Westmoreland, Cumberland, etc.) were, for their present 
shame and future ruin, absent from that field, save, indeed, 
a few who had joined Harold in his march to London. But 
there were the mixed races of Hertfordshire and Essex, with 
the pure Saxons of Sussex and Surrey, and a large body of 
the sturdy Anglo-Danes from Lincolnshire, Ely and Norfolk. 
Men, too, there were, half of old British blood, from Dorset, 
Somerset, and Gloucester. 

And all were marshalled according to those touching and 
pathetic tactics which speak of a nation more accustomed 
to defend than to aggrieve. To that field the head of each 
family led his sons and kinsfolk ; every ten families (or 
tything) were united under their own chosen captain. Every 
ten of these tythings had, again, some loftier chief, dear to 
the populace in peace ; and so on the holy circle spread from 


394 


HAROLD 


household, hamlet, town — till, all combined, as one country 
under one Earl, the warriors fought under the eyes of their 
own kinsfolk, friends, neighbours, chosen cliiefs ! What 
wonder that they were brave ? 

The second division comprised Harold’s house-carles, or 
body-guard — the veterans especially attached to his family 
— the companions of his successful wars — a select band of 
the martial East-Anglians — the soldiers supplied by London 
and Middlesex, and who, both in arms, discipline, martial 
temper and athletic habits, ranked high among the most 
stalwart of the troops, mixed, as their descent was, from the 
warlike Dane and the sturdy Saxon. In this division, too, 
was comprised the reserve. And it was all encompassed 
by the palisades and breastworks, to which were but three 
sorties, whence the defenders might sally, or through which 
at need the vanguard might secure a retreat. All the heavy 
armed had mail and shields similar to the Normans, though 
somewhat less heavy ; the light-armed had, some tunics of 
quilted linen, some of hide ; helmets of the last material, 
spears, javelins, swords, and clubs. But the main arm of 
the host was in the great shield, and the great axe wielded 
by men larger in stature and stronger of muscle than the 
majority of the Normans, whose physical race had deterio- 
rated partly by intermarriage with the more delicate Frank, 
partly by the haughty disdain of foot exercise. 

Mounting a swift and light steed, intended not for en- 
counter (for it was the custom of English kings to fight on 
foot, in token that where they fought there was no retreat), 
but to bear the rider rapidly from line to line. King Harold 
rode to the front of the vanguard — his brothers by his side. 
His head, like his great foe’s, was bare, nor could there be a 
more striking contrast than that of the broad un wrinkled 
brow of the Saxon, with his fair locks, the sign of royalty 
and freedom, parted and falling over the collar of mail, 
the clear and steadfast eye of blue, the cheek somewhat 
holloM'ed by kingly cares, but flushed now with manly pride 
— the form stalwart and erect, but spare in its graceful 
symmetry, and void of all that theatric pomp of bearing 
which was assumed by William — no greater contrast could 
there be than that which the simple earnest Hero-king 
presented, to the brow furrowed with harsh ire and politic 
wile, the shaven hair of monastic affectation, the dark, 
sparkling tiger eye, and the vast proportions that awed 
the gaze in the port and form of the imperious Norman. 
Deep and loud and hearty as the shout with w'hich his 
armaments had w^elcomed William, was that which now 
greeted the King of the English host : and clear and full, 


HAROLD 


395 


and practised in the storm of popular assemblies, went his 
voice down the listening lines — 

‘ This day, O friends and Englishmen, sons of our common 
land — this day ye fight for liberty. ITie Count of the Nor- 
mans hath, I know, a mighty army ; 1 disguise not its 
strength. That army he hath collected together, by promis- 
ing to each man a share in the spoils of England. Already, 
in his court and his camp, he hath parcelled out the lands of 
this kingdom ; and fierce are the robbers who fight for the 
hope of plunder ! But he cannot offer to his greatest chief 
boons nobler than those 1 offer to my meanest freeman — 
liberty, and right, and law, in the soil of his fathers ! Ye 
have heard of the miseries endured in the old time under 
the Dane, but they were slight indeed to those which ye 
may expect from the Norman. The Dane was kindred to us 
in language and in law, and who now can tell Saxon from 
Dane ? But yon men would rule ye in a language ye know 
not, by a law that claims the crown as a right of the sword, 
and divides the land among the hirelings of an army. W e 
baptized the Dane, and the Church tamed his fierce soul 
into peace ; but yon men make the Church itself their 
ally, and march to carnage under the banner profaned to 
the foulest of human wrongs ! Out-scourings of all nations, 
they come against you : Y e fight as brothers under the eyes 
of your fathers and chosen chiefs ; ye fight for the women 
ye would save from the ravisher ; ye fight for the children 
ye would guard from eternal bondage ; ye fight for the 
altars which yon banner now darkens ! Foreign priest is 
a tyrant as ruthless and stern as ye shall find foreign baron 
and king ! Let no man dream of retreat ; every inch of 
ground that ye yield is the soil of your native land. For 
me, on this field I peril all. Think that mine eye is upon 
you wherever ye are.. If a line waver or shrink, ye shall 
hear in the midst the voice of your King. Hold fast to 
your ranks, remember, such amongst you as fought with 
me against Hardrada — remember that it was not till the 
Norsemen lost, by rash sallies, their serried array, that our 
arms prevailed against them. Be warned by their fatal error, 
break not the form of the battle ; and I tell you on the 
faith of a soldier who never yet hath left field without 
victory — that ye cannot be beaten. While I speak, the 
winds swell the sails of the Norse ships, bearing home the 
corpse of Hardrada. Accomplish this day the last triumph 
of England ; add to these hills a new mount of the con- 
quered dead ! And when, in far times and strange lands, 
scald and scop shall praise the brave man for some valiant 
deed wrought in some holy cause, they shall say, ^^He was 


390 


HAROLD 


brave as those who fought by the side of Harold, and 
swept from the sward of England the hosts of the haughty 
Norman.” ’ 

Scarcely had the rapturous hurrahs of the Saxons closed 
on this speech, when full in sight, north-west of Hastings, 
came tlie first division of the Invader. 

t Harold remained gazing at them, and, not seeing the other 
sections in movement, said to Gurth, ‘^If these are all that 
they venture out, the day is ours.’ 

^ Look yonder ! ’ said the sombre Haco, and he pointed 
to the long array that now gleamed from the w^ood through 
which the Saxon kinsmen had passed the night before ; and 
scarcely were these cohorts in view, than lo ! from a third 
quarter advanced the glittering knighthood under the Duke. 

All three divisions came on in simultaneous assault, two on 
either wing of the Saxon vanguard, the third (the Norman) 
towards the entrenchments. 

In the midst of the Duke’s cohort was the sacred gonfanon, 
and in front of it and of the whole line, rode a strange 
warrior of gigantic height. And as he rode, the warrior 
sang — 

‘ Chanting loud the lusty strain 
Of Roland and of Charlemain, 

And the dead, who, deathless all. 

Fell at famous Roncesval.’ ^ 

And the knights, no longer singing hymn and litany, 
swelled, hoarse through their helmets, the martial chorus. 
This warrior, in front of the Duke and the horsemen, 
seemed beside himself with the joy of battle. As he rode, 
and as he chanted, he threw up his sword in the air like 
a gleeman, catching it nimbly as it fell, and flourishing it 
wildly, till, as if unable to restrain his fierce exhilaration, 
he fairly put spurs to his horse, and, dashing forward to the \ 
very front of a detachment of Saxon riders, shouted — 

^ A Taillefer ! a Taillefer ! ’ and by voice and gesture 
challenged forth some one to single combat. 

A fiery young thegn who knew the Romance tongue 
started forth and crossed sw'ords with the poet ; but by 
what seemed rather a juggler’s sleight of hand than a 
knight’s fair fence, Taillefer, again throwing up and catch- 
ing his sw^ord with incredible rapidity, shore the unhappy 

1 Devant li Dus alout can taut 
De Karlemaine ^ de Rollant, 

Ed ’Clever e des Vassalls 
Ki morurent en Ronchevals. 

Roman de Ron, Second Part, 1. 13, 151, 


HAROLD 


307 


Saxon from tlie helm to the chiiie^ and riding over his 
corpse, shouting and laughing, he again renewed his chal- 
lenge. A second rode forth and shared the same fate. The 
rest of the English horsemen stared at each other aghast ; 
the shouting, singing, juggling giant seemed to them not 
knight but demon ; and that single incident, preliminary 
to all other battle, in sight of the whole field, might have 
sufficed to damp the ardour of the English, had not Leof- 
wine, who had been despatched by the King with a message 
to the entrenchments, come in front of the detachment; 
and his gay spirit, roused and stung by the insolence of the 
Norman, and the evident dismay of the Saxon riders, with- 
out thought of his graver duties, he spurred his light half- 
mailed steed to the Norman giant ; and, not even drawing 
his sword, but with his spear raised over his head, and his 
form covered by his shield, he cried in Romance tongue, 
‘ Go and chant to the foul fiend, O croaking minstrel ! ’ 
Taillefer rushed forward, his sword shivered on the Saxon 
shield, and in the same moment he fell a corpse under the 
hoofs of his steed, transfixed by the Saxon spear. 

A cry of woe, in which even William (who, proud of his 
poet’s achievements, had pressed to the foremost line to see 
this new encounter) joined his deep voice, wailed through 
the Norman ranks ; while Leofwine rode deliberately to- 
wards them, halted a moment, and then flung his spear in 
the midst with so deadly an aim, that a young knight, 
within two of William, reeled on his saddle, groaned, and 
fell. 

^How like ye, O Normans, the Saxon gleemen?’ said 
Leofwine, as he turned slowly, regained the detachment, 
and bade them heed carefully the orders they had received, 
viz., to avoid the direct charge of the Norman horse, but to 
take every occasion to harass and divert the stragglers ; 
and then blithely singing a Saxon stave, as if inspired by 
Norman minstrelsy, he rode into the entrenchments. 


CHAPTER VIII 

1'he two brethren of Waltham, Osgood and Ailred, had 
arrived a little after daybreak at the spot in which, about 
half a mile to the rear of Harold’s palisades, the beasts of 
burden that had borne the heavy arms, missiles, luggage, 
and forage of the Saxon march, were placed in and about 
the fenced yards of a farm. And many human beings, of 


398 


HAROLD 


both sexes and various ranks, were there assembled, some 
in breathless expectation, some in careless talk, some in 
fervent prayer. 

The master of the farm, his sons, and the able-bodied 
ceorls in his employ, had joined the forces of the King, 
under Gurth, as Earl of the county. But many aged 
theowes, past military service, and young children, grouped 
around : the first, stolid and indifferent — the last, prattling, 
curious, lively, gay. There, too, were the wives of some 
of the soldiers, who, as common in Saxon expeditions, had 
followed their husbands to the field ; and there, too, were 
the ladies of many a Hlaford in the neighbouring district, 
who, no less true to their mates than the wives of humbler 
men, were drawn by their English hearts to the fatal spot. 
A small wooden chapel, half decayed, stood a little behind, 
with its door wide open, a sanctuary in case of need ; and 
the interior was thronged with kneeling suppliants. 

The two monks joined, with pious gladness, some of their 
sacred calling, who were leaning over the low wall, and 
straining their eyes towards the bristling field. A little 
apart from them, and from all, stood a female ; the hood 
drawn over her face, silent in her unknown thoughts. 

By and by, as the march of the Norman multitude 
sounded hollow, and the trumps, and the fifes, and the 
shouts, rolled on through the air, in many a stormy peal 
-^the two Abbots in the Saxon camp, with their atten- 
dant monks, came riding towards the farm from the en- 
trenchments. 

'^riie groups gathered round these new comers in haste and 
eagerness. 

^ Tlie battle hath begun,’ said the Abbot of Hide, gravely. 
‘ Pray God for England, for never was its people in peril so 
great from man.’ 

The female started and shuddered at those words. 

^And the King, the King,’ she cried, in a sudden and 
thrilling voice ; ^ where is he — the King ? ’ 

^ Daughter,’ said the Abbot, ^ the King’s post is by his 
standard ; but I left him in the van of his troops. Where 
he ma^ l)e now I know not. ^Therever the foe presses 
sorest.^ 

Tlien dismounting, the Abbots entered the yard, to be 
accosted instantly by all the wives, who deemed, poor souls, 
that the holy men must, throughout all the field, have seen 
their lords ; for each felt as if God’s world hung but on the 
single life in which each pale trembler lived. 

With all their faults of ignorance and superstition, the 
Saxon churchmen loved their flocks ; and the good Abbots 


HAROLD 


SOD 

gave wliat comfort was in their power, and tlien passed into 
the chapel, where all who could hnd room followed them. 

The war now raged. 

The two divisions of the invading army that included the 
auxiliaries, had sought in vain to surround the English van- 
guard, and take it in the rear : that noble phalanx had no 
rear. Deepest and strongest at the base of the triangle, 
everywhere a front opposed the foe ; shields formed a ram- 
part against the dart — spears a palisade against the horse. 
AVhile that vanguard maintained its ground, William could 
not pierce to the entrenchments, the strength of which, 
however, he was enabled to perceive. He now changed his 
tactics, joined his knighthood to the other sections, threw 
his hosts rapidly into many wings, and leaving broad spaces 
between his archers — who continued their fiery hail — ordered 
his heavy-armed foot to advance on all sides upon the wedge, 
and break its ranks for the awaiting charge of his horse. 

Harold, still in the centre of the vanguard, amidst the 
men of Kent, continued to animate them all with voice 
and hand ; and, as the Normans now closed in, he flung 
himself from his steed, and strode on foot, with his mighty 
battle-axe, to the spot where the rush was dreadest. 

Now came the shock — the fight hand to hand : spear and 
lance were thrown aside, axe and sword rose and shore. 
But before the close-serried lines of the English, with their 
physical strength, and veteran practice in their own special 
arm, the Norman foot were mowed as by the scythe. In 
vain, in the intervals, thundered the repeated charges of the 
fiery knights ; in vain — throughout all, came the shaft and 
the bolt. 

Animated by the presence of their King fighting amongst 
them as a simple soldier, but with his eye ever quick to 
foresee, his voice ever prompt to warn, the men of Kent 
swerved not a foot from their indomitable ranks. The 
Norman infantry wavered and gave way ; on, step by step, 
still unbroken in array, pressed the English. And their 
cry, ^ Out ! out ! Holy Crosse ! ’ rose high above the flagging 
sound of ^ Ha Rou ! Ha Rou ! ’ Notre Dame ! ’ 

‘Per la resplendar De/ cried William. ^Our soldiers are 
but women in the garb of Normans. Ho, spears to the 
rescue ! With me to the charge. Sires D’Aumale and De 
Littain — with me, gallant Bruse, and De Mortain, with 
me, De Graville and Grantmesnil — Dex aide ! Notre Dame.’ 
And heading his pro west knights, William came, as a 
thunderbolt, on the bills and shields. Harold, who scarce 
a minute before had been in a remoter rank, was already 
at the brunt of that charge. At his word down knelt the 


400 


HAROLD 


foremost line, leaving nought but their shields and their 
spear-points against the horse. While behind them, the 
axe in both hands, bent forward the soldiery in the second 
rank, to smite and to crush. And, from the core of the 
wedge, poured the shafts of the archers. Down rolled in 
the dust half the charge of those knights. Bruse reeled 
on his saddle ; the dread right hand of D’Aumale fell lopped 
by the axe; l)e Graville, hurled from his horse, rolled at 
tlie feet of Harold ; and William, borne by his great steed 
and his colossal strength into the third rank — there dealt, 
right and left, the fierce strokes of his iron club, till he 
felt his horse sinking under him — and had scarcely time 
to back from the foe — scarcely time to get beyond reach 
of their weapons, ere the Spanish destrier, frightfully gashed 
tlirough its strong mail, fell dead on the plain. His knights 
swept round him. Twenty barons leapt from selle to yield 
him their chargers. He chose the one nearest to hand, 
sprang to foot and to stirrup, and rode back to his lines. 
Meanwhile De Graville’s casque, its strings broken by the 
shock, had fallen off, and as Harold was about to strike, 
he recognised his guest. 

Holding up his hand to keep off the press of his men, the 
generous King said briefly — ‘ Rise and retreat ! — no time on 
this field for captor and captive. He whom thou hast called 
recreant knight, has been Saxon host. Thou hast fought 
by his side, thou shalt not die by his hand ! — Go.’ 

Not a word spoke De Graville ; but his dark eye dwelt one 
minute with mingled pity and reverence on the King ; then 
rising, he turned away ; and slowly, as if he disdained to fly, 
strode back over the corpses of his countrymen. 

^ Stay, all hands ! ’ cried the King to his archers ; ^ yon 
man hath tasted our salt, and done us good service of old. 
He hath paid his weregeld.’ 

Not a shaft was discharged. 

Meanwhile, the Norman infantry, who had been before 
recoiling, no sooner saw their Duke (whom they recognised 
by his steed and equipment) fall on the ground, than, setting 
up a shout — ^ Tlie Duke is dead ! ’ they fairly turned round, 
and fled fast in disorder. 

Tlie fortune of the day was now wellnigh turned in favour 
of the Saxons ; and the confusion of the Normans, as the cry 
of ^ The Duke is dead ! ’ reached, and circled round, the host, 
would have been irrecoverable, had Harold possessed a 
cavalry fit to press the advantage gained, or had not William 
himself rushed into the midst of the fugitives, throwing his 
helmet back on his neck, showing his face, all animated with 
fierce valour and disdainful wrath, while he cried aloud — 


HAROLD 


401 


^ 1 live, ye varlets ! Behold the face of a chief who never 
yet forgave coward ! Ay, tremble more at me than at yon 
English, doomed and accursed as they be ! Ye Normans, ye! 
I blush for you ! ’ and striking the foremost in the retreat 
with the flat of his sword, chiding, stimulating, threatening, 
promising in a breath, he succeeded in staying the flight, 
reforming the lines, and dispelling the general panic. Then, 
as he joined his own chosen knights, and surveyed the field, 
he beheld an opening which the advanced position of the 
Saxon vanguard had left, and by which his knights might 
gain the entrenchments. He mused a moment, his face still 
bare, and brightening, as he mused. Looking round him, 
he saw Mallet de Graville, who had remounted, and said 
shortly — 

‘ Pardex, dear knight, we thought you already with St. 
Michael I — joy, that you live yet to be an English earl. Look 
you, ride to Fitzosborne with the signal-word, La Hardiz 
passent avant!” Off, and quick.’ 

De Graville bowed, and darted across the plain. 

^ Now, my Quens and chevaliers,’ said William, gaily, as 
he closed his helmet, and took from his squire another spear ; 
^ now, I shall give ye the day’s great pastime. Pass the word. 
Sire de Tancarville, to every horseman — “ Charge I — to the 
Standard I ” ’ 

The word passed, the steeds bounded, and the whole force 
of William’s knighthood, scouring the plain to the rear of 
the Saxon vanguard, made for the entrenchments. 

At that sight, Harold, divining the object, and seeing this 
new and more urgent demand on his presence, halted the 
battalions over which he had presided, and, yielding the 
command to Leofwine, once more briefly but strenuously 
enjoined the troops to heed well their leaders, and on no 
account to break the wedge, in the form of which lay their 
whole strength, both against the cavalry and the greater 
number of the foe. Then mounting his horse, and attended 
only by Haco, he spurred across the plain, in the opposite 
direction to that taken by the Normans. In doing so, he 
was forced to make a considerable circuit towards the rear 
of the entrenchment, and the farm, with its watchful groups, 
came in sight. He distinguished the garbs of the women, 
and Haco said to him — 

^ There wait the wives, to welcome the living victors.’ 

^ Or search their lords among the dead ! ’ answered Harold. 
^ Who, Haco, if we fall, will search for us ? ’ 

As the word left his lips, he saw, under a lonely thorn-tree, 
and scarce out of bowshot from the entrenchments, a woman 
seated. The King looked hard at the bended, hooded form, 
2 c 


402 


HAROLD 


‘ Poor wretch ! ’ he murmured, ^ her heart is in the battle . ’ 
And he shouted aloud, ^ Farther olF ! farther off !— the war 
rushes hitherward ! ’ 

At the sound of that voice the woman rose, stretched her 
arms, and sprang forward. But the Saxon chiefs had already 
turned their faces towards the neighbouring ingress into the 
ramparts, and beheld not her movement, while the tramp of 
rushing chargers, the shout and the roar of clashing war, 
drowned the wail of her feeble cry. 

^ I have heard him again, again ! ’ murmured the woman, 
^ God be praised ! ’ and she reseated herself quietly under 
the lonely thorn. 

As Harold and Haco sprang to their feet within the en- 
trenchments, the shout of ^ the King — the King ! — Holy 
Crosse ! ’ came in time to rally the force at the farther end, 
now undergoing the full storm of the Norman chivalry. 

The willow ramparts were already rent and hewed beneath 
the hoofs of horses and the clash of swords ; and the sharp 
points on the frontals of the Norman destriers were already 
gleaming within the entrenchments, when Harold arrived at 
the brunt of action. The tide v^as then turned ; not one of 
those rash riders left the entrenchments they had gained ; 
steel and horse alike M^ent down beneath the ponderous 
battle-axes ; and William, again foiled and baffled, drew off 
his cavalry with the reluctant conviction that those breast- 
works, so manned, were not to be won by horse. Slowly the 
knights retreated down the slope of the hillock, and the 
English, animated by that sight, would have left their strong- 
hold to pursue, but for the warning cry of Harold. The in- 
terval in the strife thus gained was promptly and vigorously 
employed in repairing the palisades. And this done, Harold, 
turning to Haco, and the thegns round him, said joyously — 

^ By Heaven’s help we shall yet win this day. And know 
you not that it is my fortunate day — the day on which, 
hitherto, all hath prospered with me, in peace and in war — 
the day of my birth } ’ 

^ Of your birth ! ’ echoed Haco in surprise. 

^ Ay — did you not know it } ’ 

^ Nay ! — strange ! — it is also the birthday of Duke William ! 
What would astrologers say to the meeting of such stars ? * 

Harold’s cheek paled, but his helmet concealed the pale- 
ness — his arm drooped. The strange dream of his youth 
again came distinct before him, as it had come in the hall of 
the Norman at the sight of the ghastly relics ; — again he saw 
the shadowy hand from the cloud — again heard the voice 
murmuring — ^ Lo, the star that shone on the birth of the 
victor ’ ; again he heard the words of Hilda interpreting the 


HAROLD 


403 


dream — again the chant which the dead or the fiend had 
poured from the rigid lips of the Vala. It boomed on his 
ear ; hollow as a death-bell it knelled through the roar of 
battle — 


‘Never 

Crown and brow shall Force dissever, 

Till the dead men, unforgiving. 

Loose the war-steeds on the living ; 

Till a sun whose race is ending 
Sees the rival stars contending, 

Where the dead men, unforgiving. 

Wheel their war-steeds round the living ! * 

Faded the vision, and died the chant, as a breath that dims, 
and vanishes from, the mirror of steel. The breath was gone 
— the firm steel was bright once more ; and suddenly the 
King was recalled to the sense of the present hour, by shouts 
and cries, in which the yell of Norman triumph predominated, 
at the farther end of the field. The signal words to Fitz- 
osborne had conveyed to that chief the order for the mock 
charge on the Saxon vanguard, to be followed by the feigned 
flight ; and so artfully had this stratagem been practised, that 
despite all the solemn orders of Harold, despite even the 
warning cry of Leofwine, who, rash and gay-hearted though 
he was, had yet a captain’s skill — the b^old English, their 
blood heated by long contest and seeming victory, could not 
resist pursuit. They rushed forward impetuously, breaking 
the order of their hitherto indomitable phalanx, and the 
more eagerly because the Normans had unwittingly taken 
their way towards a part of the ground concealing dykes and 
ditches, into which the English trusted to precipitate the foe. 
It was as William’s knights retreated from the breastworks 
that this fatal error was committed ; and pointing towards 
the disordered Saxons with a wild laugh of revengeful joy, 
William set spurs to his horse, and, followed by all his 
chivalry, joined the cavalry of Poitou and Boulogne in their 
swoop upon the scattered array. Already the Norman 
infantry had turned round — already the horses, that lay in 
ambush amongst the brushwood near the dykes, had thun- 
dered forth. The whole of the late impregnable vanguard 
was broken up — divided corps from corps — hemmed in ; 
horse after horse charging to the rear, to the front, to the 
flank, to the right, to the left. 

Gurth, with the men of Surrey and Sussex had alone kept 
their ground, but they were now compelled to advance to 
the aid of their scattered comrades ; and coming up in close 
order, they not only a while stayed the slaughter, but again 
half turned the day. Knowing the country thoroughly. 


404 


HAROLD 


Gurth lured the foe into the ditches concealed within a 
hundred yards of their own ambush^ and there the havoc of 
the foreigners was so great, that the hollows are said to have 
been literally made level with the plain by their corpses. 
Yet this combat, however fierce, and however skill might 
seek to repair the former error, could not be long maintained 
against such disparity of numbers. And meanwhile, the 
whole of the division under Geoffroi Martel, and his co- 
captains, had by a fresh order of William’s occupied the 
space between the entrenchments and the more distant 
engagement ; thus when Harold looked up, he saw the foot 
of the hillocks so lined with steel, as to render it hopeless 
that he himself could win to the aid of his vanguard. He 
set his teeth firmly, looked on, and only by gesture and 
smothered exclamations showed his emotions of hope and 
fear. At length he cried — 

^ Gallant Gurth ! brave Leofwine, look to their pennons ; 
right, right ; well fought, sturdy Vebba ! Ha ! they are 
moving this way. The wedge cleaves on — it cuts its path 
through the heart of the foe.’ And indeed, the chiefs now 
drawing off the shattered remains of their countrymen, still 
disunited, but still each section shaping itself wedge-like — 
on came the English, with their shields over their head, 
through the tempest of missiles, against the rush of the 
steeds, here and there, through the plains, up the slopes, 
towards the entrenchment, in the teeth of the formidable 
array of Martel, and harassed behind by hosts that seemed 
numberless. The King could restrain himself no longer. 
He selected five hundred of his bravest and most practised 
veterans, yet comparatively fresh, and commanding the rest 
to stay firm, descended the hills, and charged unexpectedly 
into the rear of the mingled Normans and Bretons. 

This sortie, well-timed though desperate, served to cover 
and favour the retreat of the straggling Saxons. Many, 
indeed, were cut off, but Gurth, Leofwine, and Vebba hewed 
the way for their followers to the side of Harold, and entered 
the entrenchments, close followed by the nearer foe, who 
were again repulsed amidst the shouts of the English. 

But, alas ! small indeed the band thus saved, and hopeless 
the thought that the small detachments of English still 
surviving and scattered over the plain, would ever win to 
their aid. 

Yet in those scattered remnants were, perhaps, almost the 
only men who, availing themselves of their acquaintance 
with the country, and despairing of victory, escaped by 
flight from the Field of Sanguelac. Nevertheless, within 
the entrenchments not a man had lost heart ; the day was 


HAROLD 


405 


already far advanced, no impression liad been yet made on 
the outworks, the position seemed as impregnable as a fortress 
of stone ; and, truth to say, even the bravest Normans were 
disheartened, when they looked to that eminence which had 
foiled the charge of William himself. ITie Duke, in the 
recent melee, had received more than one wound, his third 
horse that day had been slain under him. The slaughter 
among the knights and the nobles had been immense, for 
they had exposed their persons with the most desperate 
valour. And William, after surveying the rout of nearly 
one half of the English army, heard everywhere, to his wrath 
and his shame, murmurs of discontent and dismay at the 
prospect of scaling the heights, in which the gallant remnant 
had found their refuge. At this critical juncture, Odo of 
Bayeux, who had hitherto remained in the rear, with the 
crowds of monks that accompanied the armament, rode into 
the full field, where all the hosts w ere re-forming their lines. 
He was in complete mail, but a white surplice was drawn 
over the steel, his head w'as bare, and in his right hand he 
bore the crozier. A formidable club swung by a leather 
noose from his wrist, to be used only for self-defence : the 
canons forbade the priest to strike merely in assault. 

Behind the milk-white steed of Odo came the whole body 
of reserve, fresh and unbreathed, free from the terrors of 
their comrades, and stung into proud wrath at the delay of 
the Norman Conquest. 

^ How now — how now ! ’ cried the prelate ; ^ do ye flag ? 
do ye falter when the sheaves are down, and ye have but to 
gather up the harvest } How now, sons of the Church ! 
warriors of the Cross ! avengers of the Saints ! Desert your 
Count, if ye please; but shrink not back from a Lord mightier 
than man. Lo, I come forth, to ride side by side with my 
brother, bare-headed, the crozier in my hand. He who 
fails his liege is but a coward — he who fails the Church is 
apostate ! ’ 

The fierce shout of the reserve closed this harangue, and 
the words of the prelate, as well as the physical aid he 
brought to back them, renerved the army. And now the 
whole of William’s mighty host, covering the field till its 
lines seemed to blend with the grey horizon, came on serried, 
steadied, orderly — to all sides of the entrenchment. Aware 
of the inutility of his horse, till the breastworks were cleared, 
William placed in the van all his heavy armed foot, spear- 
men, and archers, to open the way through the palisades, 
the sorties from which had now been carefully closed. 

As they came up the hills, Harold turned to Haco and 
said, ^ Where is thy battle-axe } ’ 


406 


HAROLD 


^ Harold/ answered Haco, with more than his usual tone 
of sombre sadness, desire now to be thy shield-bearer, 
for thou must use thine axe with both hands while the day 
lasts, and thy shield is useless. WTierefore thou strike, and 
I will shield thee.’ 

^ Thou lovest me, then, son of Sweyn I have sometimes 
doubted it.’ 

^ 1 love thee as the best part of my life, and with thy life 
ceases mine : it is my heart that my shield guards when it 
covers the breast of Harold.’ 

would bid thee live, poor youth,’ whispered Harold; 
^but what were life if this day w^ere lost.^ Happy, then, 
will be those who die ! ’ 

Scarce had the words left his lips ere he sprang to the 
breastworks, and with a sudden sweep of his axe, down 
dropped a helm that peered above them. But helm after 
helm succeeds. Now they come on, swarm upon swarm, 
as wolves on a traveller, as bears round a bark. Countless, 
amidst their carnage, on they come ! The arrows of the 
Norman blacken the air : with deadly precision, to each 
arm, each limb, each front exposed above the bulwarks — 
whirrs the shaft. They clamber the palisades, the foremost 
fall dead under the Saxon axe ; new thousands rush on : 
vain is the might of Harold, vain had been a Harold’s might 
in every Saxon there ! The first row of breastworks is forced 
— it is trampled, hewed, crushed down, cumbered with the 
dead. ‘^HaRou! Ha Rou ! Notre Dame ! Notre Dame !’ 
sounds joyous and shrill, the chargers snort and leap, and 
charge into the circle. High wheels in air the great mace 
of AtTlliam ; bright by the slaughterers flashes the crozier 
of the Church. 

‘ On, Normans ! — Earldom and land ! ’ cries the Duke. 

‘ On, Sons of the Church ! Salvation and heaven ! ’ shouts 
the voice of Odo. 

Tlie first breastw^ork down — the Saxons yielding inch by 
inch, foot by foot, are pressed, crushed back, into the 
second enclosure. The same rush, and swarm, and fight, 
and cry, and roar : — The second enclosure gives way. 
And now in the centre of the third — lo, before the eyes of 
the Normans, towers proudly aloft, and shines in the rays 
of the westering sun, broidered with gold, and blazing 
with mystic gems, the standard of England’s King ! And 
there, are gathered the reserve of the English host ; there, 
the heroes who had never yet known defeat — unwearied 
they by the battle — vigorous, high-hearted still ; and round 
them the breastworks were thicker, and stronger, and 
higher, and fastened by chains to pillars of wood and 


HAROLD 


407 


staves of iron^ with the waggons and carts of the baggage, 
and piled logs of timber — barricades at which even William 
paused j^hast, and Odo stifled an exclamation that became 
not a priestly lip. 

Before that standard, in the front of the men, stood 
Gurth, and Leofwine, and Haco, and Harold, the last 
leaning for rest upon his axe, for he was sorely wounded 
in many places, and the blood oozed through the links of 
his mail. 

Live, Harold ; live yet, and Saxon England shall not die ! 

The English archers had at no time been numerous; 
most of them had served with the vanguard, and the shafts 
of those w'ithin the ramparts were spent ; so that the foe 
had time to pause and to breathe. The Norman arrows 
meanwhile flew fast and thick, but William noted to his 
gi-ief that they struck against the tall breastworks and 
barricades, and so failed in the slaughter they should inflict. 

He mused a moment, and sent one of his knights to call 
to him three of the chiefs of the archers. They were soon 
at the side of his destrier. 

^ See ye not, maladroits, said the Duke, ^ that your shafts 
and bolts fall harmless on those osier walls ? Shoot in the 
air ; let the arrow fall perpendicular on those within — fall 
as the vengeance of the saints falls — direct from heaven ! 
Give me thy bow. Archer — thus.’ He drew the bow as he 
sate on his steed, the arrow flashed up, and descended in 
the heart of the reserve, within a few feet of the standard. 

^ So ; that standard be your mark,’ said the Duke, giving 
back the bow. 

The archers withdrew. The order circulated through 
their bands, and in a few moments more down came the iron 
rain. It took the English host as by surprise, piercing hide 
cap, and even iron helm ; and in the very surprise that made 
them instinctively look up — death came. 

A dull groan as from many hearts boomed from the 
entrenchments on the Norman ear. 

^Now,’ said William, ^ they must either use their shields 
to guard their heads — and their axes are useless — or while 
they smite with the axe they fall by the shaft. On now to 
the ramparts. I see my crown already resting on yonder 
standard ! ’ 

Yet despite all, the English bear up ; the thickness of 
the palisades, the comparative smallness of the last enclosure, 
more easily therefore manned and maintained by the small 
force of the survivors, defy other weapons than those of the 
bow. Every Norman who attempts to scale the breastwork 
is slain on the instant, and his body cast forth under the 


408 HAROLD 

hoofs of the baffled steeds. The sun sinks near and nearer 
towards the red horizon. 

^ Courage ! ’ cries the voice of Harold^ ^ hold but till night- 
fall, and ye are saved. Courage and freedom ! ’ 

‘ Harold and Holy Crosse ! ’ is the answer. 

Still foiled, William again resolves to hazard his fatal 
stratagem. He marked that quarter of the enclosure which 
was most remote from the chief point of attack — most 
remote from the provident watch of Harold, whose cheering 
voice, ever and anon, he recognised amidst the hurtling 
clamour. In this quarter the palisades were the weakest, 
and the ground the least elevated ; but it was guarded by 
men on whose skill with axe and shield Harold placed the 
firmest reliance — the Anglo-Danes of his old East-Anglian 
earldom. Thither, then, the Duke advanced a chosen 
column of his heavy-armed foot, tutored especially by him- 
self in the rehearsals of his favourite ruse, and accompanied 
by a band of archers ; while, at the same time, he himself, 
with his brother Odo, headed a considerable company of 
knights under the son of the great Roger de Beaumont, to 
gain the contiguous level heights on which now stretches 
the little town of ^ Battle ’ ; there to watch and to aid the 
manoeuvre. The foot column advanced to the appointed 
spot, and after a short, close, and terrible conflict, succeeded 
in making a wide breach in the breastwork. But that tem- 
porary success only animates yet more the exertions of the 
beleaguered defenders, and swarming round the breach, and 
pouring through it, line after line of the foe drop beneath 
their axes. Tlie column of the heavy-armed Normans fall 
back down the slopes — they give way — they turn in disorder 
— they retreat — they fly ; but the archers stand firm, mid- 
way on the descent — those archers seem an easy prey to the 
English — the temptation is irresistible. Long galled, and 
harassed, and maddened by the shafts, the Anglo-Danes 
rush forth at the heels of the Norman swordsmen, and 
sweeping down to exterminate the archers, the breach that 
they leave gapes wide. 

^Forward,’ cries William, and he gallops towards the 
breach. 

' Forward,’ cries Odo, ^ I see the hands of the holy saints 
in the air ! Forward ! it is the Dead that wheel our war- 
steeds round the living ! ’ 

On rush the Norman knights. But Harold is already in 
the breach, rallying around him hearts eager to replace the 
shattered breastworks. 

^ Close shields ! Hold fast ! ’ shouts his kingly voice. 

Before him w^ere the steeds of Bruse and Grantmesnil. 


HAROLD 


409 


At his breast their spears ; — Haco holds over the breast the 
shield. Swinging aloft with both hands his axe, the spear 
of Grantmesnil is shivered in twain by the King’s stroke. 
Cloven to the skull rolls the steed of Bruse. Knight and 
steed roll on the bloody sward. 

But a blow from the sword of De Lacy has broken down 
the guardian shield of Haco. The son of Sweyn is stricken 
to his knee. With lifted blades and whirling maces the 
Norman knights charge through the breach. 

^ Look up, look up, and guard thy head,’ cries the fatal 
voice of Haco to the King. 

At that cry the King raises his flashing eyes. Why halts 
his stride? Why drops the axe from his hand? As he 
raised his head, down came the hissing death-shaft. It 
smote the lifted face ; it crushed into the dauntless eyeball. 
He reeled, he staggered, he fell back several yards, at the 
foot of his gorgeous standard. With desperate hand he 
broke the head of the shaft, and left the barb, quivering in 
the anguish. 

Gurth knelt over him. 

^ Fight on,’ gasped the King, ‘ conceal my death ! Holy 
Crosse ! England to the rescue ! woe — woe ! ’ 

Rallying himself a moment, he sprang to his feet, clenched 
his right hand, and fell once more — a corpse. 

At the same moment a simultaneous rush of horsemen to- 
wards the standard bore back a line of Saxons, and covered 
the body of the King with heaps of the slain. 

His helmet cloven in two, his face all streaming with 
blood, but still calm in its ghastly hues, amidst the foremost 
of those slain, fell the fated Haco. He fell with his head on 
the breast of Harold, kissed the bloody cheek v ith bloody 
lips, groaned and died. 

Inspired by despair with superhuman strength, Gurth, 
striding over the corpses of his kinsmen, opposed himself 
singly to the knights ; and the entire strength of the English 
remnant, coming round him at the menaced danger to the 
standard, once more drove olF the assailants. 

But now all the enclosure was filled with the foe, the 
whole space seemed gay, in the darkening air, with banderols 
and banners. High through all, rose the club of the Con- 
queror ; high, through all, shone the crozier of the Church- 
man. Not one Englishman fled ; all now centering round 
the standard, they fell, slaughtering if slaughtered. Man 
by man, under the charmed banner, fell the lithsmen of 
Hilda. Tlien died the faithful Saexwolf. Then died the 
gallant Godrith, redeeming, by the death of many a Norman, 
his young fantastic love of the Norman manners. Then 


410 


HAROLD 


died, last of such of the Keiit-meii as liad won retreat from 
tlieir scattered vanguard into the circle of closing slaughter, 
the English-hearted Vebba. 

Even still in that age, when the Teuton had yet in his 
veins the blood of Odin, the demi-god — even still one man 
could delay the might of numbers. Through the crowd, the 
Normans beheld with admiring awe — here, in the front of 
their horse, a single warrior, before whose axe spear shivered, 
helm drooped : — ^there, close by the standard, standing 
breast-high among the slain, one still more formidable, and 
even amidst ruin un vanquished. The first fell at length 
under the mace of Roger de Montgommeri. So, unknown 
to the Norman poet (who hath preserved in his verse the 
deeds but not the name), fell, laughing in death, young 
I^ofwine! Still by the enchanted standard towers the other ; 
still the enchanted standard waves aloft, with its brave 
ensign of the solitary ^ Fighting Man ’ girded by the gems 
that had flashed in the crown of Odin. 

‘ Thine be the honour of lowering that haughty flag,’ cried 
William, turning to one of his favourite and most famous 
knights, Robert de Tessin. 

Overjoyed, the knight rushed forth, to fall by the axe of 
that stubborn defender. 

Sorcery,’ cried Fitzosborne, ^sorcery. Tliis is no man, 
but fiend.’ 

^ Spare him, spare the brave,’ cried in a breath, Bruse, 
D’Aincourt, and De Graville. 

William turned round in wrath at the cry of mercy, and 
spurring over all the corpses, with the sacred banner borne 
by Tonstain close behind him, so that it shadowed his helmet 
— he came to the foot of the standard, and for one moment 
there was single battle between the Knight-Duke and the 
Saxon hero. Nor, even then, conquered by the Norman 
sword, but exhausted by a hundred wounds, that brave chief 
fell, and the falchion vainly pierced him, falling. So, last 
man at the standard, died Gurth. 

Tlie sun had set, the first star was in heaven, the ^ Fighting 
Man ’ was laid low, and on that spot where now, all forlorn 
and shattered, amidst stagnant water, stands the altar-stone 
of Battle Abbey, rose the glittering dragon that surmounted 
the consecrated banner of the Norman victor. 


HAROLD 


411 


CHAPTER IX 

Close by his banner, amidst the piles of the dead, William 
the Conqueror pitched his pavilion, and sate at meat. And 
over all the plain, far and near, torches were moving like 
meteors on a marsh ; for the Duke had permitted the Saxon 
women to search for the bodies of their lords. And as he 
sate, and talked, and laughed, there entered the tent two 
humble monks : their lowly mien, their dejected faces, their 
homely serge, in mournful contrast to the joy and the 
splendour of the Victory-Feast. 

They came to the Conqueror, and knelt. 

^Rise up, sons of the Church,’ said William, mildly, Hor 
sons of the Church are we ! Deem not that we shall invade 
the rights of the religion which we have come to avenge. 
Nay, on this spot we have already sworn to build an abbey 
that shall be the proudest in the land, and where masses 
shall be sung evermore for the repose of the brave Normans 
who fell in this field, and for mine and my consort’s soul.’ 

Doubtless,’ said Odo, sneering, ‘ the holy men have heard 
already of this pious intent, and come to pray for cells in the 
future abbey.’ 

^Not so,’ said Osgood, mournfully, and in barbarous 
Norman ; ^ we have our own beloved convent at Waltham, 
endowed by the prince whom thine arms have defeated. We 
come to ask but to bury in our sacred cloisters the corpse 
of him so lately king over all England — our benefactor, 
Harold.’ 

The Duke’s brow fell. 

^ And see,’ said Ailred, eagerly, as he drew out a leathern 
pouch, ' we have brought with us all the gold that our poor 
crypts contained, for we misdoubted this day,’ and he poured 
out the glittering pieces at the Conqueror’s feet. 

^No!’ said William, fiercely, 'we take no gold for a 
traitor’s body ; no, not if Githa, the usurper’s mother, 
offered us its weight in the shining metal ; unburied be the 
Accursed of the Church, and let the birds of prey feed their 
young with his carcase ! ’ 

Two murmurs, distinct in tone and in meaning, were 
heard in that assembly; the one of approval from fierce 
mercenaries, insolent with triumph ; the other of generous 
discontent and indignant amaze, from the large majority of 
Norman nobles. 

But William’s brow was still dark, and his eye still stern ; 
for his policy confirmed his passions ; and it was only by 
stigmatising, as dishonoured and accursed, the memory and 


412 


HAROLD 


cause of the dead King, that he could justify the sweeping 
spoliation of those who had fought against himself, and con- 
fiscate the lands to which his own Quens and warriors looked 
for their reward. 

The murmurs had just died into a thrilling hush, when a 
woman, who had followed the monks unperceived and un- 
heeded, passed, with a swift and noiseless step to the Duke’s 
foot-stool ; and, without bending knee to the ground, said, 
in a voice, which, though low, was heard by all — 

' Norman, in the name of the women of England, I tell 
thee that thou darest not do this wrong to the hero who 
died in defence of their hearths and their children ! ’ 

Before she spoke she had thrown back her hood ; her 
hair dishevelled, fell over her shoulders, glittering like gold 
in the blaze of the banquet-lights ; and that wondrous 
beauty, without parallel amidst the dames of England, 
shone like the vision of an accusing angel, on the eyes of 
the startled Duke, and the breathless knights. But twice 
in her life Edith beheld that awful man. Once, when 
roused from her reverie of innocent love by the holiday 
pomp of his trumps and banners, the childlike maid stood 
at the foot of the grassy knoll ; and once again, when in the 
hour of his triumph, and amidst the wrecks of England on 
the field of Sanguelac, with a soul surviving the crushed and 
broken heart, the faith of the lofty woman defended the 
Hero Dead. 

There, with knee unbent, and form unquailing, with 
marble cheek, and haughty eye, she faced the Conqueror ; 
and, as she ceased, his noble barons broke into bold ap- 
plause. 

^ Who art thou ? ’ said William, if not daunted at least 
amazed. ‘ Methinks I have seen thy face before ; thou art 
not Harold’s wife or sister ? ’ 

^ Dread lord,’ said Osgood, ^ she was the betrothed of 
Harold ; but, as within the degrees of kin, the Church for- 
bade their union, and they obeyed the Church.’ 

Out from the banquet-throng stepped Mallet de Graville. 

^ O my liege,’ said he, * thou liast promised me lands and 
earldom ; instead of these gifts undeserved, bestow on me 
the right to bury and to honour the remains of Harold ; to- 
day I took from him my life, let me give all I can in return 



sentiment of the assembly, so 


clearly pronounced, and, it may be, his own better nature 
which, ere polluted by plotting craft, and hardened by 
despotic ire, was magnanimous and heroic, moved and won 
him. ^Lady,’ said he, gently, ^thou appealest not in vain 


HAROLD 


413 


to Norman knighthood : thy rebuke was just, and I repent 
me of a hasty impulse. Mallet de Graville, thy prayer is 
granted ; to thy choice be consigned the place of burial, to 
thy care the funeral rites of him whose soul hath passed 
out of human judgment.’ 

Tlie feast was over ; AVilliam the Conqueror slept on his 
couch, and round him slumbered his Norman knights, 
dreaming of baronies to come ; and still the torches moved 
dismally to and fro the waste of death, and through the 
hush of night was heard near and far the wail of women. 

Accompanied by the brothers of Waltham, and attended 
by link-bearers. Mallet de Graville was yet engaged in the 
search for the royal dead — and the search was vain. Deeper 
and stiller, the autumnal moon rose to its melancholy noon, 
and lent its ghastly aid to the glare of the redder lights. 
But, on leaving the pavilion, they had missed Edith ; she 
had gone from them alone, and was lost in that dreadful 
wilderness. And Ailred said despondingly — 

^ Perchance we may already have seen the corpse we 
search for, and not recognised it ; for the face may be 
mutilated with wounds. And therefore it is that Saxon 
wives and mothers haunt our battle-fields, discovering those 
they search by signs not known without the household.* 

^ Ay,’ said the Norman, ‘ I comprehend thee ; by the 
letter or device, in which, according to your customs, your 
warriors impress on their own forms some token of affection, 
or some fancied charm against ill.’ 

^ It is so,’ answered the monk ; ‘ wherefore I grieve that 
we have lost the guidance of the maid.’ 

While thus conversing, they had retraced their steps, 
almost in despair, towards the Duke’s pavilion. 

^ See,’ said de Graville, ‘^how near yon lonely woman 
hath come to the tent of the Duke — yea, to the foot of 
the holy gonfanon, which supplanted the Fighting Man ! ” 
pardexj my heart bleeds to see her striving to lift up the 
heavy dead ! ’ 

The monks neared the spot, and Osgood exclaimed in a 
voice almost joyful — 

^It is Edith the Fair ! This way, the torches ! hither, 
quick ! ’ 

The corpses had been flung in irreverent haste from 
either side of the gonfanon, to make room for the banner 
of the conquest, and the pavilion of the feast. Huddled 
together, they lay in that holy bed. And the woman 
silently, and by the help of no light save the moon, was 
intent on her search. She waved her hand impatiently as 
they approached, as if jealous of the dead : but as she had 


414 


HAROLD 


not sought^ so neitlier did she oppose, their aid. Moaning 
low to herself, she desisted from her task, and knelt watch- 
ing them, and shaking her head mournfully, as they 
removed helm after helm, and lowered the torches upon 
stern and livid brows. At length the lights fell red and 
full on the ghastly face of Haco — proud and sad as in life. 

De Graville uttered an exclamation : ^ The King’s nephew : 
be sure the King is near ! ’ 

A shudder went over the wnman’s form, and the moaning 
ceased. 

They uuhelmed another corpse ; and the monks and the 
knight, after one glance, turned away sickened and awe- 
stricken at the sight : for the face was all defeatured and 
mangled with wounds ; and nought could they recognise 
save the ravaged majesty of what had been man. But 
at the sight of that face a wild shriek broke from Edith’s 
heart. 

She started to her feet — put aside the monks with a wild 
and angry gesture, and bending over the face, sought with 
her long hair to wipe from it the clotted blood ; then with 
convulsive fingers, she strove to loosen the buckler of the 
breast-mail. The knight knelt to assist her. ^No, no,’ 
she gasped out. ' He is mine — mine now ! ’ 

Her hands bled as the mail gi ' her efforts ; the 



tunic beneath was all dabbled 


She rent the 


folds, and on the breast, just above the silenced heart, were 
punctured in the old Saxon letters, the word ^ Edith ’ ; and 
just below, in characters more fresh, the word, ^ExXgland.’ 

^ See, see ! ’ she cried in piercing accents ; and, clasping 
the dead in her arms, she kissed the lips, and called aloud, 
ill words of the tenderest endearments, as if she addressed 
the living. All there knew then that the search was ended ; 
all knew that the eyes of love had recognised the dead. 

^Wed, wed,’ murmured the betrothed; ^wed at last! 
O Harold, Harold ! the words of the Vala were true — and 
Heaven is kind 1 ’ and laying her head gently on the breast 
of the dead, she smiled and died. 

At the east end of the choir in the Abbey of Waltham, 
was long shown the tomb of the Last Saxon King, inscribed 
with the touching words — ^Harold Infelix.’ But not under 
that stone, according to the chronicler who should best 
know the truth, mouldered the dust of him in whose grave 
was buried an epoch in human annals. 

^ Let his corpse,’ said William the Norman, ^ let his corpse 
guard the coasts, which his life madly defended. Let the 
seas wail his dirge, and girdle his grave; and his spirit 
protect the land which hath passed to the Norman’s sway.’ 


HAROLD 


415 


And Mallet de Graville assented to the word of his chief, 
for his knightly heart turned into honour the latent taunt ; 
and w^ell he knew, that Harold could have chosen no burial 
spot so worthy his English spirit and his Roman end. 

The tomb at Waltham would have excluded the faithful 
ashes of the betrothed, whose heart had broken on the 
bosom she had found ; more gentle was the grave in the 
temple of Heaven, and hallowed by the bridal death-dirge 
of the everlasting sea. 

So, in that sentiment of poetry and love, which made 
half the religion of a Norman knight. Mallet de Graville 
suffered death to unite those whom life had divided. In the 
holy burial-ground that encircled a small Saxon chapel, on 
the shore, and near the spot on which William had leapt 
to land, one grave received the betrothed ; and the tomb 
of Waltham only honoured an empty name. 

Eight centuries have rolled away, and where is the 
Norman now ? or where is not the Saxon } The little urn 
that sufficed for the mighty lord is despoiled of his very 
dust; but the tombless shade of the kingly freeman still 
guards the coasts, and rests upon the seas. In many a 
noiseless field, with Thoughts for Armies, your relics, O 
Saxon Heroes, have won back the victory from the bones 
of the Norman saints ; and whenever, with fairer fates. 
Freedom opposes Force, and Justice, redeeming the old 
defeat, smites down the armed Frauds that would consecrate 
the wrong — smile, O soul of our Saxon Harold, smile, 
appeased, on the Saxon’s land ! 


THE END 


Printed by T. and A. Constable, Printers to Her Majesty 
at the Edinburgh University Press 















NK ' 








Jkr^^'^ip ^V.' •'^ r' 

' ' fi 


■it-^-;- >'■. . ^ "V 







f 


rt 




:t> 'Ha 




-‘S':'*-.'« 4 i. 


I - <i 


iVY 


t 1 H' 



'!> 


BSf^ V /«l ••-^ 


‘ J- . 


H%' 




V ‘r {' 


^f.-' 


>*'. 


^ 'V ^ ' -.-.i • **- 

Nfij ''-*•■ 


■•.-r ;.:^ -'‘u^?^ 


' ' ^V“ ; ^ • ■ ’ 




• . I 






.) . ' •“ J: ' *- *j 









S'% V<^. • ^ 


■■:• iS’ cf^ " X>' -in* ■' ■■■^ 


1 - 1 


CM '." '^: 







• v -S 


(* 






A •-•. 



i ^ 


*v 


r' 











'V 

i-C. A 3 ^'\|-/ 


jf*-*' w' ■ r 

"^Jw. ■’/ 

' .%¥'>• 

• * ; ‘'’-C . ; 'L 


V/« '• ^• .••V';^., • • • ■ - ■ 

/•<'. ■• ■*/•' V’*;. ; • 1 ''^ ' 

•' Wi ' ''?Ji ^ ■ V *' ' ^ 

-' ' IBf . ify ^ 









. ! ^5. "1 -.^“ * i i*it -ltV-V' 


■' 'f ..’ V/' '■’ ^ ^ ‘ 

*■ ' ; ■ i'': ' 


. vV 




V 


•'r 


;v* .. ‘ 




s 


'V M "A ►'' : A *", ¥■ 


I ■ • 4 " •- * 


’ • I . : ' * 

■■ JiJ' : -t 








■ V ■ 


*" . !' > tk i**^ . .__ * j *» V ._,T 


k"' . . . T* . 





' .; r^'' i-' • . r- 

6 ^ ' * f- ir> 4 : ' * * \ 

ml Vf [*l,^ * ^ • . 

•> ,' >?<• !*^-- 
L'^.i. >.>t j . • ,* 





’ ,( '’i, 


A • « 



1 V 


I . « 


» 





I.- >- 


II 


♦•- -A. 





a^'fc' ■ As - . . >j!l 

I 


k,Y..V*'-^.V^^' ' ■ ' • •• 

rj^ A . 't 





■ ••• • j.# 







